


All about loving you

by horseheadnebula



Category: Bon Jovi, Rock Music RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 08:49:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horseheadnebula/pseuds/horseheadnebula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon. Richie. Pain. Fame. It's during The Tour From Hell and the boys have trouble coming to terms with their feelings. Among other shit.<br/>Those of you who are regulars of the Jovi Boards probably know it. I'm just putting all my old stuff up here so I won't loose it. ; )</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

All about lovin' you 

Setting: The tour from hell, USA  
Characters: Do I have to say ? ;)  
Rating: R to be on the save side, for strong language,mentioning of drug abuse and innuendo. Might become NC-17 later

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the persons portrayed in this story (though I sure wish I'd do), there's no money made from this and no harm whatsoever is intended. No rumors should be started because of this fiction.;)

 

It was in Phoenix, well into the 6th leg of the “Tour from hell“.  
Jon had been quite frail for some time, due to repeat infections of his throat and the stress of being on the road for almost a year now. The very moment he stepped off stage that night he fell to his knees.

Not caring who saw or what people would think, Richie had gathered him in his arms, brushed off any other attempt to help with a snarled: ”Will you fuckin' leave him alone for once!” and carried the barely conscious singer to their dressing room.

Despite being deeply worried about Jon's condition he felt a great tenderness, a warmth that made him complete somehow. Jon's head on his shoulder, the sweat- soaked hair that tickled his neck, the way Jon held onto him, fingers clenched tightly around a bunch of Richie's t-shirt - that was all it took. 

Inside the dressing room he managed to lock the door, then carefully laid Jon down on the sofa. He covered him with a blanket and brushed the long hair back from his face. Richie noticed how clammy Jon's skin felt and that his breathing got heavier. 

The guitarist quickly fetched a bottle of water and sat down beside his friend. He pulled him up a little, so Jon's head rested against his chest. Holding the younger man up with one arm, Richie put the bottle to his parched lips and urged him to drink.

Jon just let his head drop back and refused to oblige, weakly mumbling something about being tired. That's it, Richie thought, I'm getting you to a hospital, management and press may be damned.

He just started to get up when Jon reacted and closed his lips around the spout. Richie let out a sigh and helped him to drain the bottle. Then he settled them back against the cushions, arms wrapped around the shivering frame of his friend. He planted a kiss on the top of Jon's head and rubbed his upper arms gently to warm him a little.

“ Jonny”, he said quietly “ Jonny, what did you take?”  
Jon tried to answer but his voice failed him. He shook his head and took one of Richie's hands in both of his. Snuggling it to his chest he laid back deeper into Richie's embrace.

The guitarist knew what he tried to do and shook his own head firmly.  
“Oh, no, love. Don't try to distract me. I've seen it before and I'm telling you, I'm not gonna watch you fuckin' kill yourself!”

He untangled himself from Jon's grip and moved them around, so that Jon was propped up against the cushions again. Richie knelt down in front of him. He took Jon's hands and looked straight into the strangely dull blue eyes.

“Jon,” he said matter-of-factly, “if you don't tell me, I'm gonna tell Paul you're really sick and he'll get you on an ambulance before you can say coke.”  
“No!” Jon tried to yell, but only managed a croak. “I don't do that shit.” he whispered,” You know I don't.” And a lone tear rolled down his cheek.

Richie's heart ached at that, but he couldn't let it go now. There was too much at stake.  
“Then tell me, Jonny. Tell me, so we can find out what you need.” he prompted.

God, this was so hard. He wanted nothing more than curl up and cry himself to sleep. He wanted to cradle Jon in his arms and never let him go. Not this, not to face the nightmare their dream had become.

The singer lowered his head, eyes closed. Another tear escaped from the long lashes. He whispered:”I was so fucking tired all the time. No one should know. They don't come to see me sleepwalk through the show.” He swallowed heavily and continued. “I thought it's just like lot's of coffee.” 

Richie closed his eyes briefly and thanked God for small favors.  
“So you took caffeine? That it, Jon?” he asked urgently. Jon nodded once, his shoulders started to shake as he cried silently. Richie was by his side in a blink, sat down and pulled the desperate man on his lap.

Holding him close he rocked him gently, telling him that everything would be alright. He felt Jon's pain and despair like his own and he hated how helpless he was. Tears of hurt and frustration ran slowly down his face as he continued to let his friend know that he wasn't alone in this.

After a short while Jon calmed down, he was too exhausted for anything to last long these days. The guitarist grabbed a towel from the sofa's back and gently wiped Jon's face.

“Alright,” he said,”Now let's get you back together again. Has this been the first time?” Another nod from Jon. “Good. It's not really addictive anyway, but it can wreak havoc on your body.”

Suddenly there was a sharp rap on the door and someone barked:” Open that damned door, Richard, or I'll have it busted!”  
Rolling his eyes, Richie laid Jon, who mouthed “Paul” with an expression so shocked it was almost comical, back down and hissed to him:”You're asleep!”

He straightened himself, wiped the wet towel over his face, hoping to smear his make- up enough to hide the tear tracks and opened the door.  
The tour manager, Paul Korzilius, was fuming. “What the hell do you think you're doing?” he shouted. “Where's...” he was stopped by the hand Richie held up, right in front of his nose. 

“Keep it down, will ya? He just fell asleep.” he said in a low, level voice and stepped outside, almost closing the door behind him.

“He alright?” Paul asked, natural kindness overcoming the anger at the independent actions of the guitarist.  
Richie pushed his wet hair out of his eyes and sighed. “Yeah, man, he'll be alright if he just gets some rest. He didn't get much sleep lately and tonight he forgot to drink enough. He did now and tomorrow he'll be a lot better.”

The half-lie was readily bought by the older man. They arranged for the two musicians to be picked up by a driver some thirty minutes later and both of them were mercifully excused from the after show party that night.

Paul reminded Richie that the plane would be leaving at 10:30 the next morning and Richie got inspired.  
Why, he asked Paul, couldn't he and Jon stay for another day at their hotel and take a line flight to Tulsa the day after?  
That way Jon could sleep as long as he needed and maybe relax a bit, away from everyday business. Paul didn't like the idea too much. They argued for a while and finally the tour manager relented.

Richie went back into the dressing room where he found Jon much as he left him but with a worried look on his pale face.  
“How'd it go?” he asked tentatively.  
“Oh, great!” Richie smiled, eyes sparkling again.

“I'll tell you in a minute. But first you have to...” his voice trailed off as he retrieved his bag from under the vanity and rummaged through it's contents. He found what he was looking for and went over to a small fridge where he took out two cans of Pepsi. He returned to Jon's side and handed him three white platelets. 

“What's that?” Jon inquired, looking like he already knew but hoped to be wrong.  
“Glucose. Eat it, you're still sweating.” was the curt answer.  
“No way! It's like sugary sawdust!” the singer exclaimed, hoarse voice almost whiny.  
Richie shot him what he hoped was a stern look.

“Jonny, you look like shit. You've probably not eaten all fucking day. You almost fainted on me not fifteen minutes ago. Eat the fucking glucose!”  
The genuine concern in his voice got to Jon and he did what he was told. He even refrained from grimacing. Richie handed him an open Pepsi which he took gratefully and drank down in a few gulps.

Leaning back he smiled a little lopsided and asked his friend:”You gonna tell me what has you smiling like the cat that got the canary?”, because that's what Richie had been doing while gathering the things he needed to shower and change.  
“Yes, I will.” he said, sitting down on the armrest opposite from Jon, who raised a questioning eyebrow at him when he proceeded to empty his soda like nothing else mattered.

Richie decided to spill. “You an' me, my brother, are having a day off.”  
“But we're going to Tulsa in the morning. How...Why...?” Jon wanted to know. He seemed more then a little confused and Richie thought how young and lovely that made him look.

“I convinced Paul of the fact that a singer who arrives in time for soundcheck is better then a singer who doesn't arrive at all, 'cause he's laying in a hospital bed. And that he needs a babysitter, of course. That would be me. So, we're going to stay here 'till the day after tomorrow, then get on an AA-flight to Tulsa and join the fun. Sound good?”

“Yeah, but..”

“No 'but'! I've got it all planned, Paul's okay with it, the rest will survive for 36 hours without you watching over everything and then some and you,” Richie pointed at Jon and dropped his shampoo in the process, causing him to stop his lecture and pick it up.  
“You ,” he finished after that ”will just let me take care of you for a while.”

He watched Jon blush slightly, a peculiar expression flitting over his features. Richie couldn't really name it, something between amusement, joy and well, something else.  
“Alright.” Jon said,”You're in charge. Gimme your orders, sir!”  
Richie snorted at the mock salute Jon gave and asked:”You feeling better?”

“Actually, I do. Still a bit dizzy, but better.” It seamed to surprise him.  
“Then you stay where you are and I go for a quick wash. I'll leave the door open, if anythings wrong, just shout.”  
“What about me? I'm all hot and sweaty, too.” Jon said with what couldn't seriously be a leer. Richie made a funny face at him, saying:”We'll see to that when you can stand on your own feet, baby.” and walked into the bathroom.

He looked back over his shoulder, just in time to see Jon close his eyes and lay back, drained and exhausted. Richie had suspected as much, that little banter had been Jon putting on a brave fa~ade. If only he'd recognize that he didn't have to do that for him.

A wave of sadness flooded his soul but he fought it with all he had. Not tonight. There had been too many dark nights and gray days in which he felt this sadness, this sense of not belonging. He'd made up his mind about the whole issue. He was going to make it through this tour, stay as sober as possible, remember that there had been a time when the music was all that mattered- the music and Jon. He would be and do whatever Jon needed.

And right now, he scolded himself, he needs someone who takes him to bed and puts some healthy food into his mouth, so get on with it. Richie stripped quickly and stepped into the shower. As soon as the hot water hit the tense muscles in his back he didn't think much anymore. It was pure bliss.  
He forced himself to keep it short, washed his hair and got out reluctantly.

After drying off and putting on some faded jeans and an “Edwina”t-shirt he went back into the room. Jon watched with red-rimmed eyes as Richie came over to him, toweling his hair. “I hoped you'd take a nap.” he said.  
“Nah, it's weird.'m fucking tired, but not sleepy at all.”  
“Don't worry, it'll pass. Now, watch a miracle happen. I'm gonna pack your things.” Richie said and set to work.  
“Mhh, I could get used to that!”  
“No, you can't! The trip's worn off, stop the delusion.”  
They grinned at each other and Richie thought, maybe this is where I belong after all.

He proceeded to pack, with Jon giving directions to where he threw his stuff in the hurry before the show. A knock on the door disturbed them.  
“What now!?” Richie growled and went to get it. A familiar blond head popped in. “Hey guys! Just wanted to see how ya doing.”

“Davy, hey man, come on in!” The guitarist opened the door wide and David stepped in, looking slightly worried.  
“Hi Davy, didn't mean to scare you there.” Jon greeted him, feeling the need to apologize.  
“It's okay. Don't mind me, what about you?”

“Ah, feeling a bit shitty here, but it's gonna be alright.” Jon said, shrugging it off. He winced as his shoulders complained with a stabbing pain.  
“What the hell did I do out there?” he asked. David was gobsmacked.  
“You don't know?”  
“Just bits an' pieces. I think, I ran a lot?”  
“Ye-es. And jumped, kicked, threw punches- you reminded me of a squirrel on speed.”

Jon paled even more and Richie hastened to say:” It looked damned good. People loved it.”  
“Yeah, it was a great performance.” David added. “Don't worry about that.”  
He hit himself on the forehead. “Stupid me! I almost forgot the message Paul gave me. He says, he can leave just one security- guy with you, he'll be your driver as well. And to take care and not get into trouble and...”  
“Stop! I'm getting the picture!” Jon laughed.  
The others laughed with him, relieved to see his mood brighten.

Richie had a reply for Paul. “Tell the master of disaster that we'll take his advice for what it is and , please, remind him to have the tickets delivered to our room. Don't forget that!”  
David smiled impishly. “Will do. But me smells a story behind that request...?”  
“Alright! Last time he booked me on a flight, he didn't tell me what name he put on the ticket. So, there I was at the airport, already late, and had to play 'three guesses' with the ground staff. And no, it wasn't that funny!”  
The last part to Jon, who wasn't roaring like David, but giggling like a hysteric schoolgirl. The giggles turned into a hiccup and it was Richie's turn to laugh at his friend. Another knock on the door interrupted the fun.

Richie just shouted:” It's open!” and the newcomer walked in.  
“Hullo sirs. Are you ready to go?” he greeted them.  
“Hallo Hank! You're staying with us? That's cool, man!” Richie answered delighted.

Hank was the kindest of all the security staff. Always helpful, never bossy the way some of them tended to be when a “star” wanted to go where they weren't supposed to let him. On top of that he was a big fan of Jon.

The singer greeted him adequately. “Good to see you, Hank. I hoped it'd be you.” “Thank you, Jon.” the tall man replied. He spotted Davy behind Richie's broad shoulders. “Oh, David, there you are. They're waiting for you.”  
“Well, I'll better be on my merry way, then.” David turned to Jon, took his outstretched hand and leaned down to hug him. 

“Take care, man. We can't do without your pretty face.”  
“I will, Davy. Tell everyone I'll be okay. They must call me if anything comes up. And Obie needs to check that amp again. And...” David clamped his free hand firmly over his frontman's mouth. “Geez, Jonny! You're worse than Paul! Just relax, we're all big boys.” 

They parted, laughing along with the two other man and Richie escorted David out. As soon as they were outside the keyboardist took the guitarist by the shoulder and looked at him with compassion in his gray-blue eyes. “He will be okay, right?” “Yes.” Richie said simply. “ I'll make sure of that.” “But don't forget about yourself. I don't know where you're taking that strength from, man, I can hardly take care of myself these days.”

Richie thought about that, weighed the truth against avoiding it and came up with:  
”Love makes me that strong.”  
David seemed not surprised, more like he expected something like that. “Good for you.” he said , smiling softly. “But take care anyway.” And he hugged Richie tightly. The older man let out a breath he hadn't realized holding. “Thanks Davy. Just...thanks.”  
They let go and David made his way to the waiting car. Richie watched him walk down the corridor thinking: wow, I said it and the sky didn't fall down on me.

He got back to Jon and Hank, who were having an argument about how Jon was supposed to get to the car.  
“I'll walk.” Jon said heatedly.”Just watch!” and he got up in one swift motion.  
“There!” he snapped triumphantly “See?”  
That was the moment the blood, that rushed from his head to his feet, reached its destination. He put a hand over his face as the world started to spin and he swayed like a tree in a storm.

Hank caught him under the arms and helped him sit down again. Richie, who hadn't been close enough to interfere, saw fresh tears welling up in his friends eyes. The bodyguard hadn't said a word, but the new betrayal of his body was a humiliating experience to Jon. “Hank,” Richie said calmly “please, take our gear to the car.” Hank nodded his consent and grabbed the bags and the guitar case Richie had put beside them. 

The guitarist looked down on his friend, who was staring at his feet with an expression that had become very familiar over the last months. Stubbornness mixed with desperation and self disgust.  
“What did you expect? You've been getting up too quickly, that's all.” Richie felt sympathy for Jon, no doubt about that, but he was tired, too, and a headache was starting to form in the back of his neck. He sat down once again and put an arm around Jon's shoulders. 

“Come on, we try it again, but real slow this time.” Richie let his arm slide down to Jon's slim waist and held him firmly to his side, then carefully stood them up. It went well, and as Hank returned Jon had put on a jacket and the two men were ready to leave. The bodyguard asked if he could help in any way, which made Jon blush.  
“No, it's okay, but...I...uh.. Look, I'm sorry I barked at you.” he said sheepishly.

“Please, Jon, don't apologize! You're under a lot of stress, it's totally understandable.” Now it was Hank's turn to look embarrassed.  
That's one of the reasons why they love him, Richie thought, if he steps out of line he admits it- well, after the temper dies down. Aloud he said:” Let's go, people. I'm hungry.”  
“Tell me something new.” Jon muttered, earning a punch in the ribs from Rich and a chuckle from Hank.

They walked to the emergency exit in the back of the building and on to the waiting limo. Jon didn't have any difficulty walking after the first hesitant steps, Richie could feel it in the way he held himself upright and leaned just a little weight on him. But he didn't let go, even when they got to the car, where Richie helped him climb in. After Jon sat down, Richie tried to give him more space by moving to the opposite bench, but he was stopped by Jon's hand on his wrist. “Please.” Nothing more, it was enough anyway. 

The tall dark man turned and took a seat next to the lithe blond one, whose head came to rest on his shoulder again. He embraced him almost automatically. They rode in silence until they reached their hotel. 

The car came to a halt in front of the brightly lit entrance. Jon stirred, yawned and stretched like a big cat. That pulled Richie out of his doze and he did likewise.  
The passenger door was opened by Hank and they climbed out. He and Richie exchanged a short glance that was caught by Jon, who answered the unspoken question. “I'll manage.”

He pushed back his still damp hair, stretched to his full height and walked through the big sliding doors that opened for him. The two other men took their places a half-step behind him, close enough to catch him as soon as he stumbled. It proofed not to be necessary, they retrieved their keys and continued to the elevators.

Right, those.  
Richie cursed under his breath, hoping against hope that Jon was too tired to care. No such luck, he had already changed his direction. Richie managed to intercept him, without being too obvious to the few late guests coming and going in the lobby.

“Listen, Jonny. It's just us, no big crowd, no stops, it's gonna be really quick.” he said softly.  
“I'm taking the stairs.” Jon's stance was tense, his jaw set, hands tightly fisted.  
“We're on the damned 22nd floor! You might have done well so far, but stairs are a different thing all together. And I'm too fucking done in myself to climb them with you!” He fought to keep his voice down and barely made it.

Jon looked straight into his friends fiery brown eyes and whatever he saw there made him think.  
“But.. you know..” he jerked his head towards the elevators and his crystal blue eyes were pleading now. Finally Richie understood, as if reading Jon's mind. 

It was one thing to fall off stage, that had happened to others before and was almost considered normal these days. It was a totally different story to be claustrophobic in front of a stranger, to sweat and wriggle or, god forbid, outright panic. And Hank, for all his kindness and understanding, was not part of the inner circle and therefore a stranger. Richie got that.

“We'll go alone then. Just the two of us and I'll distract you, I promise.” The warm smile that accompanied the vow wasn't lost on Jon. “Okay.” he said, still holding his friends gaze. He didn't smile back but there was a spark in his eyes that hadn't been there for some time.

They went back to the elevators where Hank waited patiently for them. Richie told him that they would go up alone and met no resistance. Jon's problem was well known among the security staff, even though he liked to think something else.

When he and Richie stepped into the elevator, Jon hesitated and was gently pushed forward by Richie's hand in the small of his back. The doors closed and Jon took a deep breath. Before he could do anything else, Richie was standing right behind him, encircling him in his strong arms.  
“Close your eyes, Jonny.” he said in a very deep voice into he smaller man's ear. “Now breathe, baby. In and out, that's it. I want you to just breathe and feel.”

In the mirror on the back wall he could see that Jon obliged. His face still looked tense, so Richie put his left hand on Jon's stomach, fingers splayed out, applying a little pressure with his palm. His right moved in slow circles over Jon's lower abdomen, feeling the taut muscles there ripple in reaction to his caress. The tension melted away and Richie, who closed his eyes as well 'cause he suddenly thought it was kind of a transgression to see Jon this vulnerable, felt him relax into his embrace.

“That's it, baby. As easy as this, you're fine, I got you, an' I won't let go.” The guitarist kept up the flow of endearment, his velvety voice a caress in itself, while he moved his right hand over Jon's torso, from narrow hips to wide shoulders and back down again. He never touched the singers nipples deliberately, but his palm or arm would brush them now and again, causing Jon to make an interesting sound in the back of his throat. Richie could have sworn he was trying to purr.

He felt pretty good himself, it wasn't so much touching Jon, but the trust being shown by the younger man that did it for Richie. Of course he felt the heat building in his groin, he wasn't dead, but this wasn't about sex. It went a lot deeper.

As much as he wanted to stay like this, Richie knew they would reach their floor before long and should be prepared to meet other people.  
Glancing up at the reflection of the display he saw he was right, they were already on the 20th floor.

“Alright baby, we're almost there.” he told Jon in his normal voice. The singer's eyes opened slowly, as if waking from a pleasant dream, and he looked at himself in the mirror, Richie's arms still around him.

“Now, that's an image to dream on.” he murmured, turned in the embrace and reached up to pull his friends head down. Leaning his forehead against Richie's he whispered:” Thank you. That was very.....nice.” and then Richie felt Jon's lips brush over his in a chaste kiss. His heart swelled at that and he had to swallow heavily before he could whisper back:”Anytime.”

They exited the elevator and went down the empty hallway to their room. Just as they reached it, Hank caught up with them.

Richie unlocked the door and switched on the light. Jon walked straight to his bed and dropped on it with the expression of a man who'd just climbed Mount Everest. Richie understood him only too well.

The bodyguard put their baggage down and asked if they needed him anymore. The guitarist negated, thanked him and told him that they wouldn't need him until the late afternoon the next day. Hank gave him his room number, in case anything came up, and left.

“Alone at last!” Richie sighed, kicked off his shoes and fell down on his own bed. Both men lay in silence for a few minutes and Richie was really tempted to let sleep claim him.

He looked over to Jon and saw him staring up at the ceiling, looking lost and forlorn again. “Hey, cowboy. A penny for 'em?” he asked softly. “Nah, they're not worth that much.” The self-depreciation in his voice was almost palpable and Richie decided that sleep would just have to wait longer.

“Only you would know. C'mon, get rid of those sodden rags you're in. I'll order our dinner.”  
He reached over and picked up the phone from the side-table. When the receptionist answered he apologized for the late request and ordered chicken soup, sandwiches, fruit salad, orange juice and herbal tea.

After he put down the receiver, he found Jon staring at him, baby blues wide and disbelieving.  
“You feeling well, Sambora?” he inquired.  
“Ya, sure.” Richie answered slightly puzzled.  
“Then why did you order lunch for a dieting model? I want a burger- or pasta!”

Richie went over to him and started to ease the sneakers from his friends feet. Shaking his head he explained: ”The pasta in this place is crap, as you found out yesterday. Remember, the dinner you didn't eat? And a burger? Well, I sure don't like to sleep in a room that's smelling of your puke.”

Jon shot up at that, unlaced shoes flying every which way.  
“You asshole! I've never...” He stopped as he took in the expression on Richie's face. Raised eyebrow, puckered lips, amusement written all over it. He said just one word.

“Moscow.”

Jon groaned and dropped his head in his hands. “Let's just not go there, 'kay? How was I supposed to know that homemade vodka and greasy food don't mix?”

The guitarist took pity on him and just ruffled his hair. “ C'mon, try it this way. There's a decent Italian restaurant in this town where we can have dinner tomorrow night. Believe me, it's worth waiting for.”

“How'd you know that?” Jon was skeptical.  
“I visited Cher here, on her last tour, when we were kinda in the neighborhood? Ring any bells?” was the slightly annoyed answer. Inwardly he groaned. Why did Jon always have to get to the bottom of things?  
This subject was another sore spot between them, one he'd rather not discuss now, so he added quickly:” Her sound tech is kin to the restaurants chef and took us there one night. It's absolutely great.”

Jon's eyes lit up at that, if there was one thing he couldn't resist it was good Italian food. Placated, he straightened his back, lowered his hands and was hit by a strong whiff of sweaty socks.

“Phew! Shower- Now!” he exclaimed and got up.  
“Need any help?” Now it was Richie who threw his friend a suggestive look.

The answering grin was pure Jon. Suddenly blazing blue eyes, lower lip caught between the teeth- an incarnated promise if he'd ever seen one. Then those perfectly curved lips opened and the tip of the moist, pink tongue sneaked out, wetting the upper lip.  
Richie's breath caught, he couldn't help it. As used as he was to Jon's flirting, once it was directed at him, he was lost.

He felt himself smile in return as his mind came up with pictures of a lightly tanned, suds covered back, but before he could act on the notion, Jon said:  
” Nah, I'm alright. And besides, someone should be able to answer the door when your supple order arrives.”  
With that he turned and walked towards the bathroom. 

The pillow, that hit him in the back of the neck, wiped the now slightly evil grin right from his face. He tried to keep his dignity by showing no reaction at all.

“You're a fucking tease, Kidd!” Richie shouted, but there was laughter in his voice. He hadn't been that serious, they were both too done in to start anything. And if they'd do anyway- well, let's just say Jon had been there, done that and Richie bore the emotional scars to proof it. Captain Kidd didn't deal well with personal failure, least of all his own.

Richie sat down on the bed again and tried to figure out how to help his friend cope with all this.  
His thoughts traveled back to the early days of this tour. They'd been so in sync, so perfect together, all of them. Sure, Jon's vocal problems had started to show again, but it hadn't affected him in such a general way as now.

The prospect of five more months like this sent a chill down Richie's spine. And to think of Jon leaving for his wife and home afterwards made his stomach twist into a tight knot.

This is so fucked up, he thought, I just gotta stop thinking about it. Just go with what each day demands and play it by ear. I can do that.

His musings were interrupted by the room service in the shape of a tall young waiter who was also blond and remarkably handsome.  
Richie watched him closely as he put everything on the table, asked very politely if there was anything else he could do for the guest, collected his tip and left.

All the time the guitarist had tried to see if he could be attracted to him, if he could think of another man as a potential lover, like he'd done with so many woman.  
He couldn't. He wasn't gay. He was in love with a person who happened to be male. He was in love with Jon.

Who was married now. That was something he still couldn't get through his head, even after four months. Sure, he and Jon had fought a lot before that.

Tico had hit the bottle hard and Richie tended to stand up or cover for him, whatever necessary. That didn't sit well with Jon, who had been suffering from hay fever at the time which made him even more irritable then usual.

That Dot had been there didn't make things any easier. She had taken up a lot of Jon's time and they had to get separate rooms. For the first time in years there was no one to share random thoughts with after the show, to joke around or unwind in comfortable silence. Not to mention no one to hold him when he was sick or laugh with him when he was happy.

So some- thing had to fill that empty place and it was either girls or the bottle. He cringed inwardly at that thought. When had he become so careless with fellow human beings? But it was true, they meant nothing more to him then a momentary distraction, a way to get his rocks off. More to feel bad about.

Even more though as he remembered the looks Jon had thrown him when he went to his room with yet another groupie on his arm. Looks that were full of disapproval, jealousy and sometimes outright hurt.

Richie had done his best to ignore them then, what did the little asshole think he was doing anyway? He could have a steady girlfriend and Richie wasn't even allowed get laid? Yeah, right man, when hell freezes over! 

Who would've thought that a drunk and totally high on adrenaline Jon would go and convince Dot to get married in Vegas? Richie had always reckoned her to be smarter then that. On the other hand, maybe she was smarter then him.

He knew damned well that there was no future to what they had. It wasn't like they could've 'come out' even if they made up their mind about their relationship. With homophobia on an all time high, due to the fear of AIDS, that would've been the end of their career.

Elton and some others might get away with it but they were well established, not an All-American- Boy band with only six years under their belt. Was it really that short? Right now it felt like a hundred years, all of them on the road.

Thinking of a long time, what is Jon doing in that shower?  
Richie went to check. He knocked civilly on the bathroom door and stepped in when he got no answer.

Jon stood in front of the mirror, clad in one of the hotel's fluffy bathrobes, and scrutinized his face closely. “You're right. I do look like shit.” he stated calmly as if Richie had been right there with him for a while.

The guitarist laid a gentle hand on his friends shoulder and turned him around. He took it all in: the first almost, but not quite, invisible lines on the forehead and around the mouth; the red rimmed, slightly bloodshot eyes that looked so wary now; the dark rings under them, enhanced by the remains of the eyeliner he'd used; how thin, almost haggard that face had become. And still- 

“No, love. All this” he put a hand on Jon's temple and caressed the high cheekbone with his thumb, “will be gone after a good nights sleep or two. What I meant was your physical condition back then. Nothing more.”

He saw that Jon didn't quite believe him, his frown stayed firmly in place. Since this seemed to be a night for the truth he threw all caution overboard and said:” You are beautiful. All of you, inside and out. You might get bruised or tainted but you'll always be beautiful. Never believe anything else.”

As Jon kissed him, there was nothing remotely chaste about it. His lips met Richie's with a force that threatened to leave bruises and his tongue didn't ask for entrance but demanded it. 

Richie granted it willingly and returned the attack with equal fervor.  
His hands got tangled in Jon's wet tresses as the younger man's fingers held on to his shoulders for dear life. They explored each other's mouths thoroughly, tasting, licking and sucking until they simply had to breathe.

When Richie lowered his mouth to Jon's again it was more gentle but with the same burning passion. His tongue traced the other's lips, relearning every fold, slowly parting them to suddenly push in. Jon moaned at the penetration, eagerly sucking the strong muscle deeper. 

The feeling was incredible and Richie savored the moist heat. H slowly fucked Jon's mouth with his tongue, enjoying the whimpers he drew from his lover. God, how he wanted him!

He'd never known a love like this before. Overwhelming lust and heartbreaking tenderness, brotherly feelings and raging desire, it was all right here in his arms.  
And in an instant he knew that he wouldn't let him go without a fight, all odds be damned.

His hands left Jon's head to pull him flush against his body. Finalizing the kiss with one last lick over the younger man's swollen lips, Richie rested his cheek against his and tried to calm down. He would not give into Jon's- who are you kidding here, Sambora?- well, and his own desire.

Far too often had any attempt at rest or a serious conversation given way to mindless fucking which left both of them strangely unsatisfied. There would be none of that now.

It wasn't easy 'cause Jon was breathing hard into his ear and his hands were doing wonderful things to his back. Richie thought of an ice cold shower and said regretfully:” I'd very much like to take this further, but there's some food calling your name.”

“And you didn't tell me?”  
Jon wrangled out of the embrace and sidestepped Richie to get to the main room. He looked back wantonly at a dumbstruck guitarist.  
“What? You don't want any?”

Richie just shook his head for what felt like the umpteenth time that night and followed him. Damned if he'd ever be able to figure this one out!


	2. Chapter 2

The singer was already seated at the table and downed a large glass of orange juice. Richie joined him and helped himself to some soup and a plate nearly overflowing with sandwiches.

He dug in like he'd been starving for days and urged Jon, who, despite his earlier words, was just fiddling with his knife, to at least eat some soup. He did, managing half a sandwich and some fruit as well.

Richie let it rest at that, lately Jon's stomach was upset more often then not. If from the booze he needed to come down after the show or the steroids he needed to be able to sing was hard to tell.

After they finished their meal Jon blow-dried his hair and changed into his favorite sweatpants and an old long-sleeved shirt. Richie got ready for bed, too and then poured a cup of tea for Jon.

“I'm still kinda wired. Just one beer, Rich, please?”  
The puppy dog eyes that went with the request were irresistible and the guitarist smirked at his friend before admitting defeat.

“Alright, alright! Maybe it'll help you sleep.” He went to the mini fridge and got two Coronas, opened them and handed one to Jon, who took it with a soft: ”Thanks.”

“How come you know about all this shit anyway ? What it does and how to deal with it? And don't tell me from your psychology classes.”  
Richie smiled at that.

“Nah, certainly not. Seasoned session musician here, remember? You think the Crüe was bad when you first met them? Man, you shoulda seen the L.A. Scene back then. That's where they learned it. There was no substance known to men that those guys wouldn't do. Once you have to deal with one or the other from your gig collapse or get sick from it, you learn fast.” He took a sip of his beer and frowned as the memories appeared in his minds eye.

“Oh. That why you came back?”  
“Part of it. Wasn't my style.” he shrugged.”Guys writing some kick-ass music they can't remember the next day or lyrics that make sense only to people as strung-out as they are- that's going nowhere real fast.”

They had both moved to Richie's bed while they talked and were now sitting on it Indian-style, facing each other.  
Jon was picking at the label of his bottle and said thoughtfully: “Yeah, I can see that. Well, their loss, my gain.” His smile was full of affection ,yet a tiny bit cautious, as if he wasn't sure he should be happy that his friends plans didn't work out.

Richie answered to that smile more then to the words.  
“It was a long time ago and I got more then I ever dreamed possible, Jonny. I think this is where I'm supposed to be.”  
And deep down that was the truth. Screw all doubts, everything had led to this.

There was that look in Jon's eyes again, the one he couldn't name, and suddenly there was a change in the atmosphere, an intimacy that allowed Richie to ask the question that had been nagging in his head all night.  
“ There's something I need to know. The intro to Sin. Why'd you change it tonight?”

Jon looked away, out into the dark night. His gaze followed the lights of a distant airplane. He pressed his lips tightly together and the moves of his hands on the bottle he held became erratic. Richie wished he hadn't asked and yet he had to know.

“I had to. I felt it. I had to... it's not...” he was visibly upset now and his voice broke.  
Richie caught himself before he could reach out to touch him reassuringly. This was something he had to do on his own.

Squaring his shoulders Jon swallowed hard, put his beer on the floor and said: “When you and Dave went out to get your pick of the bunch Stetsons yesterday, I watched TV. There was a guy on the news who went on about how homosexuals undermine the society. God, you shoulda heard him. It could've been Goebbels ripping into the Jews. That wasn't too bad though,  
I could see he was just another zealot, but later I tried on those new pants I got, the ones with the crazy pattern. Well, I had them on and nothing else and Alec came in. He looked at me and said: 'Uh, Jonny! Trying to attract a male audience, are ya?' I just lost it. I threw him out, still don't know what he wanted.”

The words had tumbled out and he hugged himself tightly. Richie fought the urge to go and drag Alec out of the arms of tonight's slut and kick his sorry ass into next week.  
Jon must've seen the blind fury in his expression 'cause he reached over and touched his friends tense thigh.

“Leave it, Rich. It's not worth it.” Instead of calming him, that statement only fueled the guitarists anger. “It's not worth it? You saying YOU'RE not worth it?” He didn't raise his voice but it was thick with contempt.

Jon flinched, though he knew it wasn't really directed at him. Richie tried to reign himself in , swearing softly. “You're worth everything. You're a good man, an outstanding artist, head of a multi-million dollar organization. You shouldn't let get to you what that shithead says. He was probably coked out of what little brains he got.”

But he could see that it was too late. Jon had gone back to that dark place inside himself. His strong fingers dug deep into his biceps, head hung low, blond mane obscuring his face. He was trembling now, his voice barely above a whisper as he spoke again.”I'm so cold, Richie. I'm so fuckin' cold.”

He lifted his head and the hurt in his eyes cut right through Richie's heart and soul. He started to untangle his long legs as Jon begged: “ Hold me. God, Richie, please hold me.”

Richie moved down the bed and pulled him into his arms. Jon slumped into them and buried his face in his friends chest. Somehow he got his legs under him and now he lay between Richie's thighs, curled into a tight ball, still trembling violently.

The brunette wrapped his large frame around him and held him as hard as he dared. Jon wasn't crying which made this much more serious. Richie knew how to deal with Jon's tears, there had been enough of them over the years, but this was scaring him.

As he held Jon in his arms and felt the tremors subside, he searched his mind frantically for the right thing to do or say. When the answer appeared he first didn't want to accept it.

 _No_ , he thought, _God, no. Please, don't make me do this. I can't...I don't want to._ But this was about Jon and about loving him and how could he deny him anything he needed?  
Just an hour ago he had sworn to himself that he would fight for their love, that he wouldn't give up what they had, not for any woman, the press or the public.

This was different. This was bigger then his own wishes. He tried to brace himself for the pain that he knew would be coming far too soon. _I can do this. For him._

Richie pressed his face deeper into those soft curls and inhaled the scent that was so familiar, so completely Jon. He tried to memorize it by naming each ingredient. Cinnamon, Clover, a hint of musk, lemon from his shampoo and that indescribable something that made it him.

 _Enough. Just get it over with._ He loosened his grip just a little and let his hands roam over coiled muscles and soft skin.  
“Jon. Jon!” he said firmly. The singer stirred almost imperceptibly but Richie knew he was listening. He'd always known.

“I have no idea how to tell you this, love, I...you know I'd do anything for you, right? But if this is what being... together with me does to you...Jon, I think we should...” he was stumbling over the words and a small part of him saw the irony in that. He could write great lyrics in a blink but couldn't get one simple sentence straight.

He swallowed to get the lump out of his throat and tried again. “Jon, if you can't do this anymore, I'll understand. You want this- us- to be over, that's what it'll be.” He'd only been able to whisper the last words. They stung his throat like the first shot of tequila and his eyes burned with unshed tears.

The rest of him felt strangely numb, so he didn't notice right away that Jon tried to disengage himself from his hold. “Rich! Richie, lemme up!” he demanded.  
The guitarist let him go,slightly taken aback and Jon sat up slowly. His expression was serious and very tired.

Richie couldn't bear to look into those revealing eyes for fear of what he might see in them. He just sat there, staring down on his hands resting in his lap, waiting for the ax to fall.

After what felt like hours he saw a shorter hand cover his own, felt a hesitant caress on his long fingers and heard Jon's low, hoarse voice. “I don't want that, Mookie. I wanna be with you. That's all I know. I can't promise you a thing except that I'll keep trying to do what's right. For everyone. Sometimes I mess it up big time, but you know all about that, right?”

Richie could hardly believe what he heard. He'd been so sure. So goddamned sure -and wrong. He'd been wrong...  
It was a good thing that he was already sitting 'cause otherwise he would've toppled over from relieve.

He looked up and Jon inhaled sharply as he took in the teary eyes and the weary look of him. “Jesus, Richie. What did I do to you?”  
“It's not your fault. I wanted to do what's best for you. It,” he let out a shaky laugh”it was a little harder then expected, I guess.”

“ No kidding.” Jon mumbled. He took Richie's hand, raised it to his lips and kissed the palm tenderly. “ I'm so sorry. All I can say is I'm yours. If you want a basket case like me.”

Richie had to smile at that. “Yeah. Yeah, I want you. In any state, shape or form.” His smile widened. “Hey, I'm a nut, right? We're a match made in heaven!”

He just couldn't stop himself. It was either being silly or breaking down from the sudden lack of adrenaline that seemed to leave his system in a rush now.

When Jon smiled crookedly, Richie leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. Jon opened up to him and they shared a very gentle kiss, caressing each others faces and trying to say with their touches what they couldn't put into words.

After the kiss they just stayed in a close embrace, 'till Jon broke into a loud yawn. He was thoroughly embarrassed and started to apologize. Richie interrupted him, laughing softly. “It's alright, baby. I was almost dozing off myself. Let's put it to bed, it's been one hell of a day.”

He got up and closed the curtains while Jon went to the bathroom again. When he came back Richie was already under the covers and had switched the light to the bedside lamp.

He watched Jon approach the bed, the soft light illuminating his lean body, adding depth to his chiseled features, making them look almost angelic. _You're my angel and my demon,_ Richie thought, _and maybe I'm damned 'cause of my love for you, but I don't care as long as we're together._

He lifted the blankets invitingly and Jon slipped in. He turned to his side and Richie spooned him, loving to give a feeling of safety to him. “Good night, love. Sleep tight.” he said quietly. “Mh, you too.” was the sleepy reply.

By the time Richie had switched out the light, Jon was sound asleep. The guitarist tried to think about the next day and how he would show him exactly how much he wanted him, but his exhaustion got the better of him and within minutes he slept, too.

 

Richie woke only once, in the small hours of the morning, to follow the call of nature. He carefully untangled himself from Jon, who slept peacefully in his arms, and went to the bathroom.

When he returned his eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he saw that Jon had curled up in the warm spot Richie had left. _Oh baby, you really are some heatseeker._ he thought amused.

He was so glad that Jon was finally able to get the rest his body and soul needed so badly, he didn't even mind that he would have to sleep on the edge of the bed now.

He got back in and resumed his earlier position behind Jon. Just as he put his arm over the other's chest, Jon turned towards him , snuggled close, so that his head rested under Richie's arm, and laid his own arm over Richie's waist. With a content sigh he drifted back into a deeper stage of sleep.

He'd never done anything like that before, usually it was Richie who held him and Jon often turned away during the night. His subconscious need to stay close to his lover moved Richie deeply. Maybe he would finally be able to let go when he was awake, too.

 _There is a light in the dark._  
With this happy thought he fell asleep again.

The next time Richie woke, daylight passed through the heavy curtains and a quick look at the alarm-clock showed him that it was almost 1 pm.  
He'd slept dreamless and felt rested like he hadn't been in weeks.

He also felt horny, which could be due to the hand that lay on his hip, very close to his morning erection.  
The owner of said hand was still asleep but Richie sure knew how to wake him up.

There was a short inner debate being held about whether it was fair to rouse Jon or not, but the side that voted that almost twelve hours of undisturbed sleep were enough won easily.

He let his hand travel down till it met a hardness that matched his own. Someone was definitely up for a little action. Carefully he removed any layers of fabric that separated him from his goal and sat up between the younger man's legs.

Jon seemed to be dreaming, his eyes moved under the delicate lids but he remained unaware of the fact that he was bared to his lover's view. Richie looked his fill, he hadn't been exaggerating last night, Jon truly was beautiful.

Richie let his gaze wander up the well muscled legs, to the narrow hips and the flat plane of his stomach. Finally it came to rest on the well shaped cock and heavy sac.

If anyone had told him a few years ago that there would come a time when he'd marvel at another man's body, he'd have had the person admitted. Now he couldn't imagine being oblivious to it's beauty ever again.

He caressed his lover's inner thighs, stroking them lightly, and moved further up until his fingers touched the base of that proud erection. Closing them around it, he leaned in and took the whole length into his mouth.

This was another thing he never thought possible, that he'd enjoy doing this, but he did. There was nothing gross or degrading about it. He loved having it done for him, there was no reason why he shouldn't like to return the favor.

Suddenly Jon's hips jerked up and a moan escaped him as Richie increased his ministrations, licking and sucking up and down the hard shaft, fondling his balls and teasing his puckered hole with a calloused fingertip.

He smiled when he heard Jon's drowsy voice.  
“Ahhhh! What... Richie?”

The brunette didn't stop to answer, just reached up blindly and laced his fingers with Jon's, who had reached down in the same moment. His other hand found Richie's head, his fingers played with soft dark strands and the guitarist could feel how much effort he put in to not just fist that hair and push the head down as he took him deeper, sucked harder, got lost in the taste and his own craving.

“Yes, god...yes! Oh, fuck! Richie!!!”

It had been only a couple of minutes and Jon was coming apart already, another novelty, for he had never been very vocal during sex, nor could he be called easy in any way.

Richie registered that in his lust hazed mind and he reveled in the knowledge that he was able to do this to him. He glanced up and was met with a sight worth to behold.

Jon's head flung back, exposing the column of his neck, his back arched with every heaving breath, strong muscles worked under silken skin. He was close to his release, Richie could feel it in the way he gripped his hand harder and harder.

He sped up his movements a little more, paused and took him as deep as possible once again. When he hummed and swallowed, Jon was thrown over the edge and came with a low cry that went straight to Richie's groin.

He stayed with Jon through the aftershocks and only let him slip from his mouth when he slowly stroked his hair, saying huskily: “Come here, you.”  
Richie could actually hear him grinning, scooted up the bed into Jon's embrace and grinned broadly himself.

“Good mornin', Jonny.”  
“That it is. And a good mornin' to you, Babe.”

They shared a passionate kiss, caressing every inch of skin they could reach. Jon pushed Richie's boxers off, wrapped his hand around his achingly hard cock and licked and nibbled his way down his chest.

He was stopped by Richie's voice.  
“No, Baby. Just your hand, I'm so” he inhaled sharply as Jon did something very talented with his thumb,”so close. An' I wanna kiss you.” he rasped.

The younger man moved back up and smiled willfully.  
“Oh, yeah?”  
“Yeah!”

Jon captured his lips again in a fierce kiss, nothing gentle, teeth and tongue, greedily claiming his lover's mouth, making him gasp and respond similarly. After only a few strokes of that strong hand Richie felt the warmth in his belly turn into a ball of white hot fire.

He came hard, his guttural moans were swallowed by Jon, who pumped him some more, prolonging his climax until Richie tore his mouth away from him, panting.

“God, Jonny,stop! You... You're killing me here!”  
Jon smiled again, smug bastard, and whispered:  
“Payback's a bitch, huh?”

He lifted his hand, that was covered in Richie's juices, and brought it to his lips.  
Locking his stormy blue gaze with the other man's topaz one, he licked his fingers clean.  
Every. Single. One.

Richie was mesmerized by the erotic display in front of him. _Fuckin' hell, Jonny! Where'd this come from? Oh,shit, that's hot._

He felt his body respond and struggled to suppress the growing arousal. The day hadn't really started yet, and he had different plans then wearing both of them out in the very first hour.

When Jon was done, looking like he wanted to say ' Well, what ya gonna do now?', the brunette claimed his lover's lips in another breathtaking kiss.  
He tasted himself on that luscious mouth, the ghost of Jon's essence still lingering in his. _You, me, us. This is us_. And he only broke the kiss when the need to breathe became overwhelming.

 

“I take it, you're feeling better today?” the guitarist smiled.  
“Ya. Right as rain.”

“Great! How you feel 'bout some coffee?”  
Instead of answering, Jon rolled over and grabbed the phone from the side table.  
Obviously he wasn't going to take any chances with his diet today.

Richie just flopped onto his back and basked in the satisfaction he felt, listening halfheartedly to Jon placing his order for a lot of coffee, pancakes and eggs.

After he finished his call, the singer put on his sweats and went to the bathroom.  
Richie sat up against the headboard and lit a cigarette. When Jon came back, carrying a partially wet towel, Richie was smoking lazily.

He was stunned when Jon wordlessly started to clean the drying come from his stomach.  
“You... d..don't have to...” he stuttered.  
“I know. I want to.”

Jon continued his task with sure and gentle motions, making Richie feel cherished and somehow awkward all in one. When he had finished, he threw the towel to the floor and sat down beside his lover, leaning his head on the older man's shoulder.

“Thank you, baby.” Richie said softly.  
“You're very welcome.”

Jon motioned to the cigarette. “Gimme one?”  
“I don't think so.”  
“Richie, please?”  
“No!”  
“Rich, come on !”  
“Last night you could hardly speak an' now you wanna smoke? Ain't gonna happen, babe!”

Jon was obviously fighting his temper as he ran a hand through his hair and turned a little to look at Richie.  
“That's not up to you, I guess. See, I ran out, so I'm asking you to give me one. Please.”

 _Wow, polite Jonny. That's a rare one._ Richie could remember him being like this at the very beginning of their- whatever it was, during the Slippery tour. He'd been sick a lot, his mood constantly changing between bitchy and bossy, but with Richie he'd always been modest, almost gentle.

 _And he's even right. I'm not his mother, for fuck's sake!_  
Richie held the cigarette so that Jon could reach it. “Here, love. Sorry, I sometimes...”  
“S'okay. Nice to know someone cares.”

He took the cig and drew on it, then handed it back while exhaling through his nose.  
“Thanks, man. There'd be something missing otherwise.”

The guitarist chuckled at that. “You got a point there.”  
They passed the smoke back and forth between them till it had burnt down to the filter, just sitting in companionable silence.

Richie stubbed it out in the ashtray on the side table and got up reluctantly.  
“Better get dressed before someone gets an eyeful.”

“As if you'd mind!” Jon commented dryly.  
“I do, actually. Just as much as you.” He hadn't meant it to come out that harshly, but Jon didn't seem offended.

“Oh, yeah, Mr how-many-chicks-can-I-get-to-drop-their-pants-with-one-smile? You seriously want me to believe that?” He laughed, but there was an edge to his voice that spoke of jealousy and hurt.

Richie sighed, took his jeans from the chair he'd laid them on the previous night and put them on, not bothering with underwear. He walked over to Jon's unused bed and messed it up a bit.

 _This is so not true,_ he thought, _one minute every thing's perfect and the next he's ready to kick my ass._

He contemplated to just leave it at that, but he knew it would only fester and then explode right in his face when he least expected it.  
Sighing again, he went back to his own bed where Jon still sat, knees drawn up, arms resting on them.

He intently looked down on his hands and he didn't look up as Richie knelt on the bed right in front of him and tilted his head up with a crooked finger.

“You know me better then that, Jonny. Hell, you're the only one who can see right through all this crap.” He spoke seriously but when he saw that he didn't get through to the younger man, his speech became vehement.

“You gotta understand that it's a mask, just like yours. That we need it, 'cause this fuckin' machine would eat us alive if we'd let anybody see who were really are.” The guitarist raked his fingers through his hair.

“Do I feel like some cheap piece of ass sometimes? You bet! There's nothing I wouldn't do if I could just stay like this forever, if I could have something pure and simple like this and nothing else.”

“This is not pure.”

“Yes, yes it is. There are no lies between us, no pretense.”  
“I lied to you. I didn't tell you I was getting married.”

“Yeah, right. And I'm not saying it didn't hurt like Hell. But you apologized and I dig why you did it.” Seeing the skeptical expression on Jon's face he added, “I'm looking at you and I see how they're pushing you - bigger, better, more - God, Jon! Who wouldn't want to have something normal, a place to come home to?”

“You don't.” It was a quiet statement.

“Not right now, no. Right now I'm with you and that's more then enough.” _Believe me for once. Just believe me._

Richie's hopes were shattered when Jon replied coldly,  
“Yeah. N’ with her.”

“Oh, for fuck's sake, Jon! Stop, it, will ya? I'm not 'with her'! ” he yelled, finally at his rope's end.

“I'm here, I sleep with you, I worry about you, I lo -” He abruptly snapped his mouth shut and regained his composure with great effort. _Reason, you gotta make him see reason. He's perfectly emotional enough for both of you_.

“Look” he sighed, “why don't we make our peace with the situation? We have obligations to fulfill and an image to maintain. Things are just the way they are.” His expression softened considerably. “As long as we're honest with each other, we can still make this work.”

Jon looked dubious but seemed willing to believe him after all.

“You think so?” he asked.

“I know so.” Richie said with all the conviction he could muster.

The singer cocked his head in that way that made him so damned adorable and said, voice barely audible, ”Good. 'Cause I couldn't live without your...touch.”

Richie drew in a deep breath and looked straight into his lover's azure eyes. He'd noticed the small pause before the last word, but he didn't dare to think about it now.

“You'll never have to. I'll be here as long as you want me to.”

“That a promise?”

“Yeah.”

Richie closed the small space between them and sealed those words with his lips.  
He didn't know why he hadn't said it, why he talked about being honest and still held back. Jon had as much as told him that he couldn't live without him, so why didn't he dare say those three words?

_Because you lied to me. Because if I tell you and you do it again, it'll hurt so much…and there'll be nothing left of me._

However there was no hesitation in his kiss, only tenderness and reassurance.

Leaning back he stroked the hair out of Jon's eyes and was graced with a dazzling smile.

“So, what are your plans for today?” the blond wanted to know.

“Let's see. Breakfast, a nice long bath, just hang out some and then go out for dinner.”

“There's an awful lot of food in that plan of yours. It's a classic Sambora plan!”the singer grinned widely.

“Do ya mind?”

“Nah, not at all. I'm starving.” There was a twinkle in his eyes that was impossible to miss.

Richie grinned back. “Yeah, I kinda noticed.”

Jon blushed deeply and bit down on his lower lip. He surely knew what that expression did for him, no one could be that innocent.

Or wait, maybe he could. My lover, the walking paradox.

The singer had seen -and done- most of the things adults do with each other, and still there was something inside of him that seemed to be untouched by it all.

Richie momentarily pondered exactly how that was possible and made a mental note to ask him a few things about his past sometime. Sometime soon.


	3. Chapter 3

The arrival of their breakfast silenced conversation and put an end to musings. Jon jumped the coffeepot immediately, poured himself a cup, raised the scalding liquid to his lips and proceeded to burn his tongue.

Cursing and spitting, he reached for a glass of water Richie had just filled for himself to sooth the minor ache. 

Richie laughed so hard he doubled over in his chair, tears streaming down his face. Wiping them off, he choked out: “Ad-addictions are r-really bad for your health.”

Jon scowled, but soon enough joined in laughing, too.

 

After an otherwise uneventful meal the two of them took care of some necessary things.  
Richie called the restaurant to make a reservation for the night. He was pleased to hear the deep, friendly voice of the chef answering. Introducing himself as an acquaintance of Frank, Cher's sound tech who'd been by a few months ago, he listened for a moment and smiled as the voice on the other line apparently recognized who was calling.

“Si, Riccardo….No, I still don't speak any Italian”… “Yea and I know it's such a shame… Do I still have a chance to get a table tonight?” he paused for a few seconds before answering again, “No, just for two - Yes, great! Looking forward to it, thanks a lot. Bye!”

Jon, who had been listening to Richie’s side of the conversation, raised an eyebrow and asked in a terrible accent, “Riccardo, eh?”

“Christ, Jon! Don't do that tonight or he'll probably be more disappointed in you then he is in me… 'cause I can at least fake the accent.”

“Hey,” the singer exclaimed in mock hurt, “I’m not that bad!”

He pouted, and then saw Richie chuckling and dropped the act.

“How'd ya get that name anyway?”

“Well, it's a really small place and when were there it was like with family, so everyone got introduced n’ it turned out there were two Richie’s; me and the lights chief. Enrico – that's the Chef – looked at me and said I could be from Naples for all he knew; so he'd just call me Riccardo! He's fun, you'll like him.”

“I see. So, we're settled for tonight?”

“Yeah, he'll have a table and a special menu ready at eight. That all right with you?”

“He's doing something just for us? Wow, that's nice! I love it!”

Jon was beaming; he genuinely liked it when people did something for him without caring about who he was. His mood brightened further when Richie sat down on the sofa, lit up again and held the pack out to his lover. Nodding his thanks, Jon took one out, sat down beside Richie and accepted the light the older man offered. He cupped his hand around Richie's to hold it steady while he lit his cigarette.

The small gesture sent a warm feeling through Richie and when Jon let his thumb run over his knuckles, he smiled a very fond and faraway smile.

Once that would've been enough to drive me up the walls all night… never knowing whether it was what I hoped it to be or not. Aw, and the things I imagined...

He came back to the present when Jon called his name.

“Richie?! Hey, Sambora! Anyone home?” The singer leaned over and touched the guitarist's knee lightly to get his attention.

“I'm right here, Jonny, no need to shout,” He said softly, “I’m just thinking...”

“Must've been something good.” Jon remarked.

“It sure was.”

Richie lifted the hand off his leg and intertwined his fingers with Jon's. “When you put your hand over mine, it reminded me of the time we started out, how a touch like that would've kept me wondering if it meant something; n' how I used to think about it ‘till I felt I'd go nuts because of it.”

“Just nuts? Damn thing like that had me going out of my fuckin' mind for hours. And then you started to do it all the time…accidentally…on purpose… just to annoy the shit outta me...”

“Nah, never to annoy you. To see how you reacted, yes. I needed clarity, even if it would've been a slap in the face.”

Jon flinched at the thought. 

“I'd never hit you!” He thought that over and added with a mischievous smile “Though I'm sorely tempted sometimes.” He said, recalling their endless arguments over song details.

“Oh, are you now?” Richie's voice had dropped a full octave; he purposely misunderstood Jon, unable to resist the opening that allowed him to turn the conversation in a sensuous direction.

The singer blinked in surprise, but for once hadn’t missed the innuendo. He instead played along. After taking a long drag he placed his cigarette in the ashtray and shifted a little closer.

“Mmm yea, sometimes I think you really need to be taught some...lessons.” He spoke very low and huskily himself and moved even closer to his lover and commanded, “Put that down!” pointing at the cigarette.

When Richie obliged, too stunned to protest, Jon took both his wrists in a firm grip, careful not to bruise but strong enough to make it difficult to get out. He rose onto his knees and was slightly towering over his lover. It felt strange somehow.

Richie hadn't really thought this through, he wasn't sure if he'd like to have Jon push him around in this field too, even though the idea of himself at the other man's mercy sent a pleasant shiver down his spine.

Luckily for him, Jon had come to a similar conclusion. He didn't need to take any more control, especially not where he longed to give it up completely.  
He raised the captured hands and regarded them closely.

“What am I gonna do with you, huh? Or rather, what would you do to have these back?” he pondered.

“What, you're looking for a ransom? Where are we, in Sherwood fuckin' Forest?” 

Jon made a sound like a game show buzzer and playfully bit Richie's index finger. 

“Ouch! Watch the goods, will ya?! These fingers make you a lot of money.” The singer cocked his head and smirked, lowered his head and kissed the spot his teeth had barely touched.

“Does for you too, ya sissy, so you’d better come up with something worthy.”

Well...how about I run you a hot bath, take care of you real good and give you a massage afterwards?” the guitarist offered, smiling coyly at his lover.

Jon was instantly distracted by that suggestion and Richie made use of the moment to twist his arms inwards, breaking the grip on them and grab Jon by the waist, rolling with a move that sent them tumbling to the floor in a tangle of limbs, curses and laughter.

Pinning the younger man under him, Richie seized the opportunity to kiss him thoroughly, leaving him panting with need. He got up quickly, retrieved one of the cigarettes and walked off to the bathroom.

Jon sat on the floor with a ‘what the fuck happened here?’ expression stuck on his face. The guitarist turned around and grinned widely at the picture of Jon baffled and with badly tousled hair. “I'll do your bath anyway, but just for the record: I'm no sissy, pretty boy!”

 

Richie stood by the tub, with his back to the door, and tried to choose one of the complimentary bath essences the hotel provided. Typical, either you don't get any or so many it's hard to choose. Mm this sounds good.... 

He jumped a little when two hands were placed gently on his shoulderblades and slightly rough lips kissed a spot between them that obviously had longed to be kissed forever, 'cause it felt so good, he closed his eyes and sighed.

Jon smiled against the soft skin and rested his cheek against his lovers back, arms coming down to encircle the trim waist.

“Have I ever told ya that I love the way your skin feels under my lips? And under my hands? How much I love to know that beneath all that softness and sweet taste lie powerful muscles, strong enough to hold me through everything, good or bad?”

He paused and after a moment added :” And that deep down there's a soul to match that.”

He spoke quietly, but despite the thundering sound from the water that cascaded into the tub, Richie heard him well, understood the apology that really wasn't necessary and had to blink once or twice. He put the small bottles he held down on the rim, turned in his lover's arms and kissed him gently on the forehead.

“You've never told me in so many pretty words, but I figured it out alright.”His long fingers smoothed Jon's tussled mane and he smiled tenderly as the younger man closed his eyes in contentment. So beautiful, my darling. So fuckin' beautiful.  
“You know, what with all the kisses and touches...always thought you enjoyed doing that quite a lot.”

“I do.” Jon breathed and proved it right there and then.  
He started by mouthing a collarbone, moved on to the hollow of Richie's throat, then to the other collarbone, all the while caressing the tender flesh with closed lips and occasional flicks of the tip of his tongue.

Richie let his head drop back and inhaled sharply, his one hand held onto his lover's head while the other caressed his shoulder. Only Jon could make him feel like this, like every touch was invented for him and for him alone, like he'd spent hours to think of the best way to please him.

He inhaled sharply as Jon moved up his neck, tracing the jugular with his tongue. When he licked across Richie's Adam's apple, the guitarist let out a throaty moan. He pushed both hands into his lover's hair, pulled his head up and kissed him on those teasing lips, thrust his own tongue deep into the hot mouth and got lost in the unique taste once again.

They parted after long minutes.  
“God, Jonny! Whatcha doing to me?”   
“Nothin' you're not doing right back, babe.” the younger man said huskily, took one of Richie's hands and gently kissed the palm. He let his tongue run over the inside of the middle finger and when he reached the tip he took it into his mouth, licking and sucking on it like it was his favorite Popsicle. A streak of electricity raced from the digit to Richie's groin and his cock twitched with the force of it.

He looked down on Jon's bowed head, imagining it bobbing up and down on something else and groaned. “Babe, you keep that up an' we'll never get into that bath.”  
Jon raised his head, mischief sparkling in his eyes.  
“But it tastes sooo good.” he pouted. “Would feel great, too, ya know, all nice an' wet...”

That look, blue eyes peaking out from underneath dirty blond strands, combined with the suggestive words, was Richie's undoing.  
“Fuck getting clean!” he growled.  
“Gonna get you all sweaty first!”  
He pulled Jon in for a heated kiss and used his free hand to turn off the water, then threw the mock protesting singer over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and marched off to the bed.

 

Having dumped Jon rather unceremoniously in the middle of the bed, Richie got rid of his jeans quickly and crawled up to his lover, who regarded him with badly hidden anticipation.  
He tried to even out his breathing and keep a nonchalant expression but the dilated pupils and the way his hand reached unconsciously for the tall brunette told the real story.

Richie suddenly needed to touch him and pulled him in his arms, needed to feel his every move, every breath he took. He tugged impatiently at the hem of Jon's tee and scolded playfully: “Too many clothes, love.”  
“So, strip me.” was the laconic reply. Not believing for a second that he was really this indifferent, Richie grinned evilly.

“You're wish is my command!”

And I'll have you writhing on this bed, begging for me, before you're even naked. He promised him silently, knowing for sure that if he'd say it aloud Jon would do his worst to maintain the calm facade he tried to put up now. 

Richie straddled Jon's muscular thighs and leaned forward, his erection pressing into the singers groin. Slowly he pushed the shirt up, kissing every inch of skin he exposed. When he reached the navel he swirled his tongue around it and felt Jon's hands on his head, carefully, but definitely pushing down.  
Ah, getting impatient already, are we?

He drew back a bit and looked down at his lover's slightly flushed face.  
“Raise your hands over your head and keep 'em there.” he ordered curtly, but his own hands that guided Jon's arms up, were as gentle as ever.

He returned to his task and worked his way up the lean torso, enjoying the way Jon's breathing accelerated when he licked along the ridges of his ribs. Skilled fingers caressed quivering flanks, always on the verge of tickling but only exciting the younger man more.

By the time a pair of already erect and reddened nipples was exposed to Richie's view, Jon was positively panting and the first drops of sweat formed along his hairline. Before he moved on , Richie ground his pelvis firmly against the tent in Jon's sweats, feeling a hardness that matched his own.

“You alright, Jonny?” he asked sweetly when a low moan escaped the singer. Hooded eyes tried to focus on him as Jon obviously had to struggle to find his voice. He was a study in passion with those midnight-colored eyes, the rouge brushed cheeks and slightly opened lips.

Never had he looked more lovely to Richie and for a moment the guitarist lost his plot, overwhelmed with awe that this beautiful creature was in his bed, in his arms. Richie wasn't aware that what he did had affected him the same, so he was surprised when Jon said:

” I'm ...fine. God, Richie, just look at you! You're fuckin'...gorgeous.” He pronounced each word carefully so it wouldn't come out as a gasp. He still wasn't ready to give it up, to admit how strong his need was to voice his desire, to thrash around and scream beneath his lover. Too bad Richie's determination to get him to that point was even stronger and the tight control he sensed in Jon helped him to get back into his game.

“Good!” he whispered, “Then you won't have a problem with this.” And he lowered his head and closed his teeth not too gently on the first stiffened peak. Jon hissed loudly and arched off the bed as the delicious pain rushed through him.

Richie immediately soothed the bite, licking it softly while rolling the other nipple between calloused fingertips. After a few moments he switched sides and repeated the sweet torture.

This time he was rewarded with a shouted: “Fuck!” as Jon grabbed his head with both hands and pressed it hard against his chest. You want rough, babe? Rough it's gonna be!   
Now was not the time for slow and teasing, Richie realized, now all the pent up tension and suppressed desire needed to come out and it was something he needed, too.

He pulled back forcefully and made short work of Jon's shirt, ripping it while pushing it over the singer's head. Jon complied and wriggled to indicate he wanted to get rid of the pants, too, a request Richie gladly and quickly fulfilled. Once Jon was as naked as Richie himself, the guitarist covered his body again, feeling him everywhere at once and yet it wasn't enough.

“Want you, Jonny!” he panted, “Need you now!”  
Something snapped inside the singer at those words, he thrust up and flipped them over in a strong and fluid motion, gripping Richie's upper arms as he growled:” You have me, baby. Gonna fuck you so hard, gonna be all you can think of, all you'll ever need.”

If Richie thought his lover was a sight to behold before, he was now awestruck by the passionate young lion hovering above him, the impossibly hard cock that rubbed against his with every heaving breath Jon took. This was what he'd aimed for, no holds barred, just pure and unadulterated emotion.

“Show me, darlin'! Take me!” he groaned and if it was more of a command than a plea Jon didn't mind.  
He kissed Richie again and started a rocking motion as his lips left a fiery trail on his lover's throat . It was Richie's turn to cry out when Jon payed him back for his earlier actions and bit one of his dark nipples, then keeping it between his teeth as his tongue teased it till Richie thought that he might come any second now.

Jon seemed to sense that, knowing him like he did, and he backed off, kissed his way down the now sweat-glistening chest and stomach, avoiding the straining erection that begged to be attended to and leaned back. He touched the back of Richie's drawn up thighs and pushed them up, exposing his lover's hole.

Strong hands skimmed over the inside of Richie's thighs, over his hips and down again and when they grazed his scrotum he was the one who surrendered.  
“Fuck, Jonny.....touch me...please!”  
It was a drawn out moan and Jon didn't waste any more time with teasing.

He spread Richie's legs even wider and stroked his heavy cock with one hand while the other caressed his perineum, massaging it ,then worked its way down to the dark rose.  
When his fingers stopped, Richie immediately knew why and panted: “Side table,drawer.”

Jon dove across the bed, pulled the lube out and was back before Richie had a chance to really miss him. The singer almost ripped the cap off and squirted a generous amount of the clear jelly into his palm.

Richie was shivering with anticipation when he finally felt a slippery digit enter his tight opening. He pushed down on the finger, needing more and getting it. Jon added a second finger, then a third, working them in and out slowly, preparing his lover for his cock.

He squeezed the base of Richie's cock tightly to prevent him from coming from the intense stimulation, bent over it to take it into his hot mouth, licked up and down the thick vein on the underside and let it slip out again.

Their eyes met and, holding the gaze, Jon placed himself at Richie's stretched rose and entered him in one strong thrust. Richie sighed at the sudden feeling of being filled completely but it turned into a moan when Jon started to pump his hips like a ram, perfectly angled to brush his prostrate on every stroke. One of his hands stroked his lover's cock again, perfectly timed with his thrusts.

Low moans turned into a litany of endearments and curses as incredible pleasure coursed through Richie's body. Neither man closed his eyes, both needed to use all senses to take in their lover's reaction, heightening their excitement even more.

Jon felt his orgasm approach first but he fought it. “Tell me, Richie.” he groaned.”Tell me I'm ...the only one, there's no one ...no one...else who makes you feel like this.” He couldn't stop if his life depended on it but he slowed down a bit, making Richie whimper in frustration 'cause he'd been so close, so fucking close.

“Just... you, Jonny, only and always you.” Richie whispered and meant it. This went beyond sex, beyond everything he'd ever experienced, even it it looked like a fast fuck. He reached up and pulled his lover down for a passionate kiss. Just before their lips met he whispered: “ Come with me, baby.”

Jon picked up his pace again and hooked Richie's legs over his arms, laying down on his chest, being as close as two people could get. Richie's hands stroked Jon's hair, his face and when he felt the hot wave rise from his lower back he breathed: “Now, baby, let go.”

Jon had felt it somehow, his own release impending, he deepened his strokes and within seconds both men moaned the other's name as they rode the height of their fulfillment together.

They stayed together for a long time afterwards, their breathing slowly calming down, caressing each other with hands that remembered how to be gentle again and in those moments there was nobody in the world but them.


	4. Chapter 4

Finally even Jon's lithe frame proved to be of considerable weight and Richie nudged him carefully in the ribs to bring him out of his doze. “Hey babe, would ya mind...” he asked softly. Jon came to in a heartbeat and let himself slip down to lie in Richie's arm, leaving their legs still tangled. “Sorry man, didn't mean to fall asleep on you,” he said just as softly, “ 'Twas just so comfy.”

Richie smiled at that, so very content himself, reluctant to move even the tiniest bit.  
“S'okay, love, you worked hard for it.” he replied, earning a shy smile from his lover.  
“You wanted something different, right? An' I...” Jon was interrupted by Richie's finger on his lips. “Shhh, it was great. Do ya have any idea how sexy you are when you're all impatient and demanding?”

“Nah, I don't.” he answered so low, Richie felt it more than he heard it.  
Why are you like this? What makes you so damned insecure, when you should know I'm okay with whatever you wanna try, as long as it's with you.  
But he couldn't tell him, again his own insecurities got in the way and he could only think of one thing to do; he'd just show Jon what he couldn't convey with words.

Delicately brushing back the damp hair from his lover's face he asked quietly:” Do ya wanna rest for a while? Maybe get some more sleep?” Jon shook his head 'no' and tried to separate his legs from Richie's. “I haven't slept that much in months. All I need right now's something to drink. You want some, too?”

“Yeah, if ya getting up anyway... juice would be great, thanks.”  
Jon got up and, as soon as he was standing, sat down again quickly, laughing lightly.  
Richie almost jumped out of bed when Jon dropped down, but stopped at his laughter, a little confused now.

He reached for Jon's shoulders to steady him.  
“Are ya alright? Jonny?”  
The singer put his own hand reassuringly on top of Richie's.  
“I'm fine, really, this is... oh man,” he couldn't stop chuckling and shook his head slightly. “It's just... my fuckin' knees are kinda weak!”

Richie joined him in his amusement.  
“That bad, huh?” he giggled.  
“Nah, that good!”  
Richie embraced Jon from behind and tenderly kissed his neck.  
“Told ya you worked hard. But the result was absolutely worth it.”he whispered into his ear. Moving back he spoke up.  
“Know what, you lay back down for a bit an' I'll get us the drinks an' a smoke.”  
He looked down at himself. “And maybe clean me up a bit. You keep getting me all sticky.”

Jon laid back on the bed and lazily scratched his chest.  
“Oh, that was me? Could've sworn that's yours.”  
“It's mine alright, but 'twas you who caused it.” Richie tried hard to contain his grin.  
“Well, I just won't do it again, then, will I?” the younger man said with a completely straight face.  
What? Wait! You little....I'll show ya!

Keeping his expression as solemn as he could, Richie replied: “ Jon, ya know I really like ya, right?”  
“Ya.” was the slightly puzzled response.  
“And ya know that I really hate it when something bad happens to ya?”  
“Ya-ha.” Suspicious now, brows drawing together; trying to figure out where this was leading to.

Richie knew he needed to wrap this up fast, Jon was anything but stupid, just a little slow on the uptake sometimes. He had so much to think of lately, it was as if his mind was constantly occupied and there was just no more room for unimportant things like banter. But right now he seemed to be relaxed enough to get it. Shit.

“So, “ Richie said, inching closer, “I'm terribly sorry, but a threat like that needs immediate punishment.”  
With that he threw himself onto his lover and tickled him mercilessly.

Jon, finding escape wasn't an option anymore, tried to fight him off with all that he had. Adrenaline helped him along where the remains of his exertion where hindering him, but it was a losing battle anyway. Richie had the element of surprise on his side, combined with his weight and size there was nothing Jon could overcome easily on his best of days.

Right now, all he could do after a minute of nimble fingers moving at lightning speed over his sides, ghosting over his sensitive skin with just the right amount of pressure to torture him the most, was squeal and shriek helplessly.  
“NO! Fuck, no!! Rich...RichIE! Stop! Stop! No, no more...Ahhh!”

It was hilarious and innocently erotic at the same time, both of them being naked and not caring in the least, so familiar with each other, so confident in the other's presence for once. I could watch you like this forever, carefree and laughing, not thinking, just being. 

Jon was just a wriggling, shaking mess, tears of laughter running down his cheeks and the ability to form coherent words left him quickly. Richie, seeing him gasping for breath, slowed down a little and asked, laughing and breathing hard himself: “Tell me you didn't mean it? You WILL do it again?”

“Any...thing! I'll...oh please, stop! Was just...ha, just kiddin'!” Jon wheezed, while finally managing to grab his lover's hands and restrain him from his wicked actions.  
Richie grinned down on him. “Okay, baby. That's all I wanted to hear. Now, lemme go, I think you need that drink more then before.”

Jon let him go and, while Richie got up and did what he'd said earlier, he tried to get his breathing under control again. When he was certain that he could speak through a whole sentence he said: “Hey King, you're swinging back on your word now ?”

Richie just came back to him with a glass of orange juice in each hand and a pack of cigarettes between his teeth, so he couldn't answer immediately. He didn't have a clear idea what Jon was on about anyway, so he spat the pack onto the bed and inquired:” Whatcha talking about, Jonny?” while handing him a glass and sitting down beside him.

“I'm talking about,” Jon replied coolly, then taking a long swallow of his drink, “you having promised to 'take good care' of me. Right now I'm sticky, sweaty and thirsty, not to mention the fact that I'm exhausted, and not in a good way.”

“Cut it out, Jonny. You know damned well that you asked for it.” Richie replied, smiling cordially. The warning in his voice would've gone unnoticed by most, but Jon understood it only too well, laid back and smoked quietly for a while.

Richie regarded him intently. This was the man he loved, who he'd adored from the minute he first laid eyes on him, but every now and again he pushed him to his limits. Why do you have to be such a... brat sometimes? Why.... his train of thought took a different direction as the word he'd used brought back the memories of another life, the voice of his father clear and angry in his mind. Will ya stop acting like some stupid brat, Richard? Ya got nothin' to proof here, ya always gonna be our son, no matter how much shit ya pulling, ya hear me?

He couldn't even recall the source of the argument, maybe something about independence and the need to stand up to a thing that was too big for him yet, it didn't matter anyway. What mattered was the feeling connected with the memory, the reassurance that he could be as obnoxious as he wanted, he'd always be loved.

Richie sat completely still, smoking automatically, his mind conjuring up pictures from a more recent past. Jon and him, talking over a glass of expensive whiskey; Now, my people always expected me to put in some effort. If I wanted to be a singer, I'd better be the best. Another occasion, the lot of them exchanging school stories; I never had time to spare for learning. There was my brothers and stuff and all I could make space for was the music. And I needed that, so I made a choice.

He looked closer still and saw the tiny changes that gave his lover's state of mind away; the almost imperceptible shaking of his fingers holding the cigarette, the tightened shoulders and he blinked more often then normal.  
Realization hit him full force. You have to be a brat. You have to keep asking me to love you, no matter what, cause no one ever did that before. And since you can't say it, you have to act like the spoiled primadonna you never were. God, Jonny....

Jon almost choked on his smoke as Richie embraced him tightly, without any notice. “Let's stop this shit, alright?” he said in a rough voice, pretty sure Jon would understand him without knowing exactly what was going on. It seemed like he did, he returned the gesture, pressed a soft kiss to Richie's shoulder and murmured against it: “Yeah, you're right. Shouldn't waste our precious time together fighting. 'Twas stupid.”

Richie held him close for a moment, then he withdrew himself and looked into those impossibly blue eyes. One could get lost in them, he knew it, for he'd taken that path into the unknown two years ago and would continue on it to the very end.

“I keep my promises, baby.” he said very quietly, trying to put all his feelings into that look. Jon returned the gaze, unsure, searching, lips pressed together tightly, till he apparently found what confirmation he needed. The concentrated mien dissolved and suddenly his face was luminous with joy.

“And I'll keep mine.” he answered,” With you, I can.”  
Richie kissed him quickly, not wanting to let his hopes grow too high with an admission like that, but definitely happy with it.  
“'Kay babe, do you need to go in there or can I finish preparing your treat?” he wanted to know, jerking his head in the direction of the en-suite.  
“Go ahead, can't wait to get in the water, it's been so long!” Jon emphasized his words with a gentle shove.

Richie got up and put out his smoke. He went to his suitcase and pulled out a rather large brown paper bag, which he took with him into the bathroom. Jon hadn't noticed, he'd laid back again and closed his eyes.

After a while the guitarist returned to his lover's side and softly called his name. Jon responded immediately with a dreamy smile and reached for him. “Hey there. Help me up?” Richie gripped his hand and pulled, but once he was standing, the singer took hold of his arm, looking for support.

“Legs are still weak? C'mon love, I'll carry you, but don't get used to it.” the brunette grinned. He tried not to worry about it and told himself that it was most likely that Jon was just taking advantage of him. He didn't mind, it was so rare that Jon allowed himself that much assistance. Lifting him up into his arms, Richie kissed his forehead and found his suspicions confirmed when Jon showed that satisfied little smile of his.

 

Chapter 14

“I really like this, you know. Makes me feel...I dunno, special.” he admitted. Oh, then you'll absolutely love this. Richie thought smugly but passed on any comment, for they'd reached the door to the bathroom. He pushed it open and stopped for effect. The room was lit by a dozen candles, creating a golden glow that was heightened by the steam wafting off the tub and the air was heavy with the scent of sandalwood and spices. 

Jon just looked, didn't say a word, was for once completely and utterly speechless. Richie craned his neck and tried to see his eyes, but couldn't make them out under the long bangs. Nevertheless he felt the sharp intake of breath of his lover's and stepped into the bathroom, slowly letting him down in front of the tub.

The singer didn't turn fully to face him, he spoke to the wall, very softly and hesitantly.  
“Thank you...thank you so much. This is...I don't deserve you..”  
He lowered his head and whispered:” I'm such a fuckin' bastard.”

“No Jonny, you're not! Look at me!” When Jon refused to comply, turning further away, Richie wouldn't have it “Fuckin' look at me, Jon!” he hissed, forcing the younger man's head up and around with a firm grip on his chin. Jon didn't fight him and Richie pulled his lover into his arms again. “I can't stand to hear you lower yourself like that. You didn't know what I was up to, there's nothing to feel bad about.” he said insistently.

When Jon didn't react, just rested his forehead on Richie's shoulder, the guitarist swallowed heavily. “Let me show you. Let me love you like you deserve it. Please, baby, gotta make you feel it.” he whispered, while his hands caressed Jon's back. I love you, I love you so fuckin' much. Got to let you know somehow, without losing myself in you. 

Something felt wrong about that. He always went with his feelings, it got him into trouble more often then not, but he wouldn't have it any other way. For anything worth having, one must pay the price...He couldn't remember how the quote went on, but there was a lot of truth to it. Holding back just wasn't him. Stop thinking. DO!

“C'mon love, get in or it'll get cold.” he said kindly, pushed both hands in Jon's hair and raised his head that way. There was weariness in those beautiful azure eyes, but once they bore into his, they came alive again. “ Yeah,” their owner said quietly “ I'll do.”  
To Richie it was clear that he didn't mean the bath at all.  
He stayed quiet, there wasn't anything to say really, so he just brushed his lips over Jon's briefly and offered him a hand as he stepped into the tub.

“Jesus, this feels nice!” Jon sighed and closed his eyes as the hot, fragrant water engulfed him fully.  
Richie remained outside and asked softly: “Would you like some privacy? Be alone for a while?”, knowing well that this was one of the most precious things he could offer on tour. The singer opened his eyes to look at him, a little bit irritated.  
He extended his hand invitingly and said huskily:” I'd very much like to be private with you, baby.” 

Richie took his hand and pressed a quick kiss on the back of it before he got in behind Jon, who hurried to make room for him.  
As soon as the guitarist had stretched his long legs out on either side of Jon's, he pulled the singer back against his chest.  
“Now relax, love. And if you doze off, it's okay. I'll hold you.” he murmured, reclining until his own head rested on the tub's rim and Jon's lay comfortably on his shoulder.

They stayed like that for a while, one of Richie's arms wrapped around Jon's midriff, his fingers playing idly over the skin, drawing little patterns on it. Jon let his hands rest on his lover's thighs, motionless at first, but slowly answering him with tiny moves of his own.

“Rich?” he asked quietly.  
“Mh?”  
“This really is the best idea you had in years. Why'd we never do this before?”  
“Geez, I don't know. Maybe 'cause we hardly had the time? Never were alone for long, always had to fear someone would burst in. Or maybe 'cause you weren't too keen on that much intimacy for a while?” Richie bit his tongue after the sentence was out. It was the truth, but was Jon willing to accept it? 

“Yeah, you're right. One of my bigger mistakes.” he answered surprisingly airily.  
Richie smiled, relieved. He couldn't resist the wet, freckled skin on Jon's shoulder right in front of him and kissed sweat and water off it. At Jon's delighted sigh he whispered: ”I love your freckles. They remind me of our days at the beach. And you taste like sunshine.”  
“How does sunshine taste?” was the curious reply. Richie could hear him smiling.  
“Like you.”  
“Ha, ha! Very elaborate,Rich.” Jon teased.

“Can't expect pearls of wisdom when I'm holding you like this, now, can ya?” Richie grinned. Serious again, he said: ”You remind me of a summer day. Heat, passion; burning like the sun; exhausting sometimes, which makes the moments in the shadows that much more special. And even there, you still taste like sunshine.”

His other arm crossed Jon's chest, he caressed the tender skin on the juncture between shoulder and neck. The younger man rubbed his cheek on the back of Richie's hand and kissed it affectionately.  
“That's funny.” he said in between kisses, “When I think about you like that, I see midnight. Velvet an' silk under a canopy of stars. And the moonlight illuminates a side of you that's for my eyes only.”  
His tongue found the underside of Richie's wrist and licked it teasingly.

“Yeah.” Richie breathed as a wave of arousal swept through his veins. “Only for you.”  
He tenderly kissed Jon's temple and thought about his words.  
“We complete each other.” he asserted after a moment. It was a bit stating the obvious, of course, but neither of them had ever openly admitted to it before. Jon nodded, his hair tickling Richie's chin.

“That we do. It's amazing that we see the things all the others don't.”  
Do you see all of them? Do you know how I feel about you? You might see the darkness in me- like I see the light in you- but do you know it was you who put it there, however unintentionally? The guitarist couldn't help having these thoughts, but fought them down once more and remembered that he wanted to let his actions speak for themselves.

Richie reached for the shower gel and a washcloth and worked up a lather. He gently washed his lover, starting with his chest. Richie took his time, using wide circular motions. They communicated solely by touch, Jon reacted to the slightest contact Richie made to stretch out an arm or raise a leg. They had cleaned each other before, in the shower, and it was always nice, either foreplay or gentle come down after sex, but what Richie did was in a league of it's own.

His moves were reverently and considerate, he didn't miss a single millimeter of skin. When he came to the most intimate body parts of his lover, he dropped the cloth and used his bare hands, not to arouse but to caress him. His ministrations had Jon in kind of a trance, he moved with him where needed, but didn't try to intensify the actions of his partner or do anything on his own. For once he was just savoring the sensations he experienced.

It would have been so easy to turn this into a heated encounter like the one they'd shared a couple hours ago. Neither seemed to be interested; Jon was completely relaxed and while Richie enjoyed what he did tremendously, he felt far more tenderness then desire. When he was done, and conveyed the fact by letting his hands rest on his lover's hips and dropping a kiss on his ear, Jon needed a moment to come out of his dreamy state and sit up.

“Mh, why'd ya stop?”  
“ Any cleaner and you'd be aseptic.” Richie quipped. “Besides, the water's getting cold.”  
“Don''t wanna get out. S'nice; an' it ain't cold as long as I'm in your arms.”  
Jon managed to put a pout in his voice that would've done any schoolgirl proud. Richie, once more torn between laughing and kissing him, opted for the latter. Jon had already turned as much as he could in the narrow tub and looked positively kissable. His hair was still a mess, dripping wet up to his ears; his face was slightly flushed from the heat and his eyes sparkled with joy. He reached out to cup Richie's cheek with his left and smiled as he leaned into the touch.

“ You're a wonderful man, Richie. I think I don't tell you as often as I should.”  
“You show me.” Richie answered simply. “And you're pretty wonderful yourself.”  
Their lips met in a loving kiss, unhurried and sensitively. When they parted, Richie drew Jon close and burrowed his face in the crook of his neck for a moment, before he pushed him back gently, reached around him and pulled the plug.

“Whoah! That's cheating!”   
“Nope. It's called an adequate measure.” Richie laughed and started to quickly wash himself. Jon had to laugh, too, and gave him some space. When Richie was done and reached for the hand shower, Jon beat him to it.

“Let me.” he said. Richie nodded and let him rinse the remaining suds from his body.   
The mischievous glint in those sky blue eyes should have warned him, but he was too distracted by the pleasurable situation to pay them any heed. So it was no small shock when the prickling spray hit the head of his manhood with full force. “Shit!” he yelped, hands rushing down to cover himself. “What the fuck!?” 

Jon almost choked on his laughter, but hastened to turn down the water and tried to apologize through the giggles that he couldn't stop from escaping.  
“Sorry, man! I...didn't mean...so strong...” he gasped.  
“Come again? Slowly?” Richie grinned. It hadn't hurt, it just surprised him and he had an idea about what Jon tried to do. It was a very nice idea...something he'd like to take him up on.

“I..uhm...it feels... good- when it's not... set so high...” He was blushing heavily, obviously embarrassed by having let this information about how he liked to pleasure himself slip.   
This is just too cute for words! Richie was very careful not to let his thoughts become visible in his expression, let alone say them. Jon would have his balls for dinner if he'd ever as much as suspected that his wingman put 'cute' and him in the same sentence.

“I think I can imagine. Try again?” with that Richie spread his legs as wide as possible to grant his lover better access to his goal.  
Jon had gotten over his embarrassment and his wanton smile was back. He lifted the hand shower again, but instead of directing the spray at Richie's crotch, he aimed it higher.

It felt really good, Richie decided, as the hot water caressed first his left, then his right quickly pebbling nipple. Moving the spray lower, Jon let it circle around his lover's navel, which elicited a sound between a growl and a giggle from him. The water cascaded over prominent hipbones, down the 'v' of his thighs, along the inside of each one, before it finally touched his semi-erect cock. The sensation of a hundred tiny tongues licking over it, massaging his balls and returning to his length had him sighing with pleasure, still it wasn't enough to fully arouse him, which he didn't mind a bit. Coming twice since getting up a couple hours ago was plenty enough.

After a few minutes he sat up and, seeing the goosebumps on Jon's skin, took the hand shower from him.  
“Your turn.”   
He swiftly rinsed the singers body, lingering just briefly on his more sensitive spots, and stood up, reaching out to pull Jon with him.  
When they both were standing outside, Richie wrapped Jon in a big towel and dried him off, managing to get dry himself in between.  
“I believe I owe you a massage as well.” he said as he finished his job with a quite futile attempt to dry his lover's hair.  
“You owe me nothing. But I'd like that. A lot.”  
“Go ahead, make yourself comfortable. I'll just have to find the oil.” Richie pecked him on the lips and went to search the chaos that was his luggage.


	5. Chapter 5

When Richie had pulled on his sweatpants and a t-shirt and finally found the massage oil where he least supposed it to be, right in a side pocket of his toiletry kit, he turned towards the bed where Jon lay on his stomach, arms stretched out above his head, cheek nestled into a pillow. He had drawn the thin sheet up to his shoulders and the sleek fabric outlined his form in a decidedly immodest manner. Must've been cold...but hell, that's some erotic picture! It's true; nothing like a covered up treasure to get the imagination going. 

Now that he thought about it, Richie noticed that the climate in the room was suitable for him, but not necessarily for his warmth -craving lover. He quickly turned down the A/C and returned to the bed at last. Running his free hand over Jon's satin covered legs and firm butt he said admiringly:” Mh, may I unwrap you, beautiful?”

“Yea, I think I can allow that, gorgeous.” Jon grinned, without even trying to look at him through the hair hanging in his face. Richie slowly pulled down the sheet until Jon's backside was bared from his neck to just above his tush. Gonna save the best for last. The guitarist straddled his lovers thighs, coated his hands with the aromatic oil and carefully put the bottle down on the floor. He rubbed his palms together to get them as warm as possible, then placed his slender hands over Jon's shoulders without touching them. They hovered maybe half an inch over the skin and he just kept them there, letting his heat transfer slowly.

” So warm...that's awesome, Rich!”

“Feels good? It'll get better, baby. Just tell me how you like it.”

“Whatever you do is fine with me.”

“'K.” Richie breathed, and let his hands sink down onto the freckled skin. He started by rolling it between his thumbs and fingers, then used the heels of his hands to move the muscles as well. When he reached the sharp edges of his lover's shoulderblades his touches eased, growing stronger again when he moved his hands down the long muscles along his spine.

Jon gave a mewing sound; not a lion anymore, just a content kitten; a sound that made Richie smile and kiss each protruding vertebra.  
“ A lip massage? You invent the nicest things, Mookie.” Jon murmured dreamily. “ Anything you like, baby, anything at all.” Richie whispered, and kissed all the way up to the back of Jon's neck, where he nibbled along the hairline until he came to the perfect shell of his ear. Without thinking he licked along the ridges, kissed the tender skin behind it and said very low and emotional:” Thank you,Jonny. Thank you for being here with me. This means the world to me.”.

Jon pushed himself up a bit,turned under Richie, shook his unruly mane out of his face, and regarded his lover fondly.  
“It's me who needs to give thanks, Richie. You're the one who's putting up with all my bullshit. You're the one who's always there for me, don't ever think I don't see that! Please, never thank me for what little I can give you- I- I'd love to give you more, but I can't...I don't have...” he broke off, eyes colored a luminescent blue, tears gathering in them.

And once more Richie could read in those eyes what Jon couldn't put into words. That he didn't have the strength to love him openly; couldn't build his whole life on the madness of their business; still needed him desperately. And under all those things was something more, something that made Richie reach out and caress Jon's face with all the tenderness he felt.  
“I love you, Jonny. Whatever you can give me, I'll gladly take. Even the bullshit.”

Jon sat up as straight as he could, with Richie now perched on his upper legs. His eyes became even huger, if that was possible, and brighter, too. If Richie had had second thoughts about what he just said, they vanished at that look.  
“Richie...” Jon breathed, “Richie...” He threw his arms around Richie's neck and kissed him deeply, overwhelmed by his emotions. Richie kissed him back, lost himself in the sweetness of it for a while, though he felt his own tears rising. When the kiss ended, he pulled Jon's head to his chest and held him close, so he wouldn't see his eyes. Someday you'll say it back. Someday... I'll wait, baby. I'll wait all my life.

“ Want me to finish?” Richie asked after a moment, when he felt he could control his voice again. Jon nodded and laid back down on his front. It was obvious that he couldn't speak and Richie bent down to kiss his cheek. “It's okay, babe. I know.” he simply said.  
The singer looked up over his shoulder and whispered: “ Yes, you do.”, before he buried his face in the pillow again.

Richie worked intently and gently on his lover's newly tensed body, and felt him slowly relax again when he'd reached his lower back. Jon had sighed or loudly expelled his breath every now and again, but otherwise he'd given no response at all. Uncovering him completely, Richie moved over his buttocks, down his legs, paid some attention to his feet by massaging the arches with his thumbs and then moved up again with long strokes of his palms.

“Jonny? Still with me?” he asked softly as he covered Jon with the sheet and the comforter. “'M tired, Babe. S'nice, warm and...” a yawn interrupted whatever Jon wanted to say, and Richie smiled about his sleepy lover. Nice to know there's some things I do right. “Then sleep, Angel.” he whispered, pulling the blankets higher over his shoulders, “Sleep and get some rest.” He laid down beside him and stroked his hair lightly, again and again, until he heard his breath become slower and deeper.

When he was certain that Jon was asleep, Richie got up and went over to the minibar. He tried not to do it, but the need for just a little bit of liquid comfort was just too strong. He poured himself two fingers of Scotch and lighted a cigarette, taking both with him to the window, which he opened, and then he sat on the sill.  
Jonny. Good that he gives in to what he needs for a change. And I've told him and he didn't rip my head off. In fact, he seemed to be kinda thrilled... 

The guitarist contemplated the days events some more, smoking and sipping his drink, letting his own tension getting washed away by the stimulants. Having finished both, he got up, closed the window and got his walkman to listen to some music. He stretched out on the couch and forgot everything as he lost himself in the maze of Joe Satriani's playing.

 

After the tape had ended, Richie had dozed off, too, just as drained physically and emotionally as Jon. They might pretend that they owned the world and anything in it, that they rocked this high, but it was actually rocking them, and deep down they knew it. Torn between common sense and the voices of people who had a lot to gain and even more to lose, depending on the decisions the band made, the voices tended to drown out common sense more and more. They were walking a thin line and would be lucky if they made it through unharmed.

But right now life was good for Jon and Richie, who woke up to the sound of the phone ringing. He heard Jon curse and then his voice, still hoarse from sleep, answering the call. Richie sat up and looked over the back of the couch. Jon was sitting in the middle of the bed, surrounded by a deep sea of blankets, hair an incredible mess, scowling as he listened to whatever the person on the other end of the line said.

“ Yeah.- I'm fine.- No!- Leave me the fuck alone with that shit!- I told...- NO! This is final!- Listen ,don't call me again unless you got something serious to discuss, understood?!- Good!”

The receiver was slammed down so hard that Richie, who'd gotten up and walked over to Jon as soon as he started to shout, flinched and mentally added a broken phone to their bill. The singer's hands were shaking with fury, he let them run through his hair and mumbled curses under his breath.

“Hey, Jonny.” Richie said cautiously, crawling up to him. “ Don't pull 'em out.”  
Jon looked at him as if he saw him for the first time. “That might be just the thing. Maybe then this shit would stop.” he growled.  
“What shit?”  
“Doc... he had another of these stupid photo shots set up. Can you believe it?” He got up, found his pants on the floor, pulled them on roughly and started to pace the room.

“I'm sick of it! All of it! I don't wanna do anymore of it, an' he fuckin' knows it!” he shouted, while Richie stood up again and tried to think of something to calm his irate lover. Fuck you, McGee! Thanks for upsetting him again! How am I s'posed to appease him, when I whole- heartedly agree with him? So the response he gave was kind of lame, and he was to pay dearly for it.

“Look, Jonny, it's just how it is. You're the face...” he didn't get any further. Jon spun around and invaded his personal space in a heartbeat, standing toe to toe.  
“The face?” he hissed. “I'm THE FACE? You're fucking me 'cause I'm just a pretty FACE?”  
His beautiful eyes had narrowed to slits, icy blue glittering through them; the balled fists said clearly that while he might have no desire to hurt Richie, he wanted to hit something, and he was just close enough to become a casualty.

Richie stared at him and understood that this was deeper and older than the actual cause, and he swallowed his pride, his own hurt and anger at Jon's accusation, and took him in his arms. The younger man stiffened at first and for a second Richie thought he was going to fight him. But then he drew a shaky breath and leaned his forehead against Richie's.

“I did it again.” he whispered. “I'm sorry, Mookie, I'm just so angry...”  
“I know you didn't mean it. But it hurts, Jonny, it hurts nonetheless.” The guitarist saw no reason to lie about his feelings, there was no other way for Jon to learn to respect them. He watched as the anger deflated and was replaced by sorrow. Jon swallowed hard and turned away.

“Let's sit down for this.” he said while walking over to the couch. Richie followed him, bewildered but willing to see what was on his friends mind. “You want something to drink?” he asked, feeling that they might need it.  
“Yeah, grab me a beer, please.”  
Richie fulfilled the request, bringing another beer for himself, and settled down beside Jon, who took his beer and downed half of it.

“When I fell asleep, I was extremely happy. What you said...what you did- that was the best.” the singer said slowly and the loving look that accompanied the words made Richie forget all of his anger. Before he could reply, the hard expression from earlier was back

“And then I woke up to this shithead reminding me that I'm...I'm just...” Jon broke off and started to shred the label on his bottle. 

“Jonny, stop that.” Richie lit a cigarette and passed it to him, lighting one for himself afterwards.

“Ah, thanks. I really need it. How do you always know?”

Richie smiled, made a small gesture with his hands and shrugged as if to say 'What can I do?', which made Jon smile in return. He took a long drag on the cigarette and found the resolve to continue.

“Just a pretty face. A cheap piece of ass, like you said.” Richie wanted to say something, but thought better of it. Let it get out. Maybe it'll help.

“I'm a fuckin' songwriter! I think of myself as a musician; I know I'm not in your league as a guitar player, but I can hold my own. That's what I want to be acknowledged for, not my face or ass!” Jon blurted out, frustration evident in his voice, and now Richie had to speak.

“And you are! You think we got to No 1 just by your looks? It's the music, Jonny, and the way you make the songs come alive. I thought you knew that.”  
He saw Jon struggle to believe him, his emotions easily readable to him, and he decided to push it a little further.

“Why does this get to you so much? I know it annoys me sometimes, but I look at it as kinda the price of fame. Why can't you do that, baby?” he asked insistently. Their eyes met, and the sudden emptiness in Jon's scared the guitarist. Shit, what did I dig up here? He was about to tell Jon to leave it when the younger man spoke.

“I'm not sure, Rich. It makes me feel...dirty; like a thing. I hate that feeling. I hate it.” The last sentence was a whisper. Richie closed the space between them and put an arm around his lover's shoulders, pulling him close.

“Baby...Jonny..” he was at a loss for words. Anger he knew, frustration he could handle, but this was a side of his friend he had never seen. Jon's hand came up, caressed Richie's face with heartbreaking tenderness.

“You always see the real me, baby. I know that. I see it in your eyes when we make love. It's there when we're on stage. Always.” Richie's heart soared at that. Make love. Make love. He repeated to himself, but was brought down quickly by Jon's next words.

“Then there's Dot. She's different, too. Oh, she wants me, but she'll never throw herself at me. There's always a conquest, a challenge. It does a lot for my ego that I can charm one as independent as her.” He noticed the sadness on his friends face and his own smile was sad, too.

“Rich, I'm just as straight as you are, remember? What we have...that's so special, there's no words or category for it. But what I have with her...it grounds me. Makes me believe I do have a choice.”

“A choice?” Richie felt a leaden weight settle in his stomach. “When did you ever not have a choice?” he croaked as a vivid image invaded his mind. God, no, Jonny! This can't be! Tell me this didn't happen to you! He knew what he needed to do, so he took Jon's hand in his and whispered: “Tell me, Jonny. I'm not sure I wanna know, but tell me if you want.” Jon squeezed his hand tightly, reading his friends suspicions quite clearly.

“It's not as bad as what you probably fear. I haven't thought about it for ages, but now that I do, I'd like to tell you.” Richie just nodded, feeling a bit sick, and Jon took a deep breath.

“ I was twelve years old when it started. A friend of my mom's had been sick and her husband was out of town on business, so I was sent over to mow the lawn and do- other stuff. At first I was curious, like any other boy would've been, but that was all I was. She let me look, and touch and she... touched me. That was weird, but alright. Then she wanted more. Yeah, I know. Sounds like a teenage dream come true.” he commented on his lover's raised brows.

“Only if the specific teenager dreams of it.” Richie said dryly, more at ease now that his worst assumption hadn't been confirmed. “Did he?”

“Not so much. He was... well developed, but had just recently started to look at females as something of- interest. She took what she wanted and it confused me no end.”

“You didn't like it?”

“Nah, not at all. I mean, yeah, the release was good, but I wasn't...ready, if you know what I say. It was just bodily; and she was married. I'd done something incredibly wrong.”

“God, Jonny! It wasn't you fault. That was a grown woman, she should ha' known better. She's the only one to blame.”

“That's what you say. She said it was me. That I seduced her, that I was bad. But when I told her I wouldn't come over anymore, she blackmailed me, said she'd tell my mom. I knew I'd be dead meat if she did, so it continued.”

“How long, Jonny?” Richie pressed out through his clenched teeth.

“Not that long. Hubby returned after three weeks and I thought, that was it. I was really young.” Dread returned with a vengeance at the bitter expression on Jon's face. Oh, god, did he find out? Were you beaten- or worse...? 

“What?” The guitarist managed to ask, taking the younger man's hand in both of his and holding on to it.

“She told her friends. Before I knew it, I was the boy toy of the neighborhood.”

 

Ch.16

 

“Say what? You saying that bitch not only took advantage of you, a kid, but shared you with her bored, morbid friends?”  
Richie was furious, though it wasn't what he'd feared, Jon hadn't been raped- or had he? Wasn't this worse, in a way? If he'd been physically forced, he'd always have the solace of knowing that there wasn't a damned thing he could've done. Like this, all he had was a world of 'what if'. It might not have injured his body, but his soul was a different matter.

Jon misinterpreted his lover's incredulous tone completely.

“That too much for the King of Swing? Too obscene, even for you? Think I asked for it?” he snapped, pulled his hand from Richie's grip and jumped up. The brunette grabbed his wrist lightly but Jon turned his back on him anyway.

“Jon, don't! Yeah, I feel... disgust. And I could hit something or rather someone. But it's not about you! How can you even think that?” He let go of Jon's arm and the younger man took his head in his hands, sighing.

“I don't know, Rich. God, where'd that come from?” All fight had left him in that one outburst. He turned around again, totally confused. “I really never thought about it. Why now? And why does it hurt so fuckin' much?” It was impossible for him to stay still any longer, he began to pace the small strip of floor between the couch and the table. Richie watched him silently, thinking about all he'd heard.

“Maybe it was about time to let it out. And I think you were always hurting from it, somehow.” he finally said. So many things fell into place now. Jon's often callous manner with girls; his need for control; his strangely bipolar reactions regarding his looks. And-

“You did think about it. Remember that girl in Osaka?” Jon stopped and rolled his eyes.

“Which one?”

“The one Alec had. The one you told him to leave alone.”

“I was stinkin' drunk in Osaka, that's about all I remember.” Now Richie looked slightly unnerved.

“Yeah, an' I was high as a kite; but I never forgot what you said. And neither have you. When Alec told you that she'd said 'yes', what didya say?”

Jon's eyes were shooting daggers, but he answered nonetheless, grinding the words out. “Her eyes say 'NO'.”

“Exactly. Tell me you didn't think about it then. Tell me that wasn't you in her place.” Richie could see the emotions run rampant in his lover, and for a moment he feared he'd pushed him too far. To his surprise Jon closed his eyes and seemed to think this over.

“Yeah.” He admitted quietly, “I knew how she felt. What it's like when no one hears you.”

“But you told them, right? “

“Yes, I did. Over and over again.” It was just a breath, and then, finally, the tears came. Not many, not a flood born from desperation and exhaustion, like the night before, just a few for the innocent boy he'd been, and maybe a few for the man who'd have to live with this for the rest of his life.

Richie wanted to hold him through it, like he always did, but Jon freed himself from the embrace after only a minute and looked straight into the other man's compassionate brown eyes, his own dark and timid.

“I got used to it, Rich.” he said with great difficulty. ”You deserve to know that I got to a point where... no blackmail was necessary anymore. I was a slut.” A dozen possible replies ran through Richie's head; placations, endearments, denial. Jon held his gaze without blinking, as if he was afraid to miss the response to his statement. When the guitarist felt him tremble under his hands, he knew that Jon was terrified of his reaction, but his believes had not allowed him to keep this to himself.

“How long have you carried this, Jonny? Fifteen years?” Richie asked softly. The singer was puzzled and it took him a second to answer.

“ Yeah, give or take. Why?” Richie framed the beautiful face in front of him with both hands, returned the deep look that hadn't wavered, and declared very certainly:

“Because I don't give a flying fuck about who you were made to believe you are back then. Because I'm telling you now that I admire you for your strength, that made you walk away from that shit. Because I can't even begin to understand what it took for a child to live under that kind of pressure, and that's what you were, a child that had to find a way to deal with it.” He gently placed a kiss on trembling lips. “Jonny, I've known you for six years now, and not once have I seen a slut. All I see is the man I love. And he's a good man.” The guitarist felt his friends knees buckle and sat down with him. Holding him as close as he could without hurting him, he rocked him slightly “Shh, baby. It's alright.- It's alright, it's over. You're not alone anymore, I'm here, Jonny.- I'm here.” he whispered.

“It's just...just...I'm so- relieved!” Jon sounded amazed with that. “ I was so afraid... what you'd say...what you'd think..”

“ She really doesn't know?” Richie asked softly.

“Dot? Nah. It stopped around the time we got together, so there was no need.”

“When you got...Five fuckin' years?” 

“Yeah.. but it wasn't that bad anymore. The... dynamics had changed a bit, an' I was too old for most of them anyway. Not that easy to handle anymore, I guess.” The grin he showed was wolfish, to use a friendly term, and Richie hoped that those tarts had seen it only once. But that was highly unlikely.  
Now he knew how Jon had stayed sane and so strangely innocent through all off it. He must have learned to detach a part of himself from the situation. Sadness filled Richie as he thought about what else had been taken from his friend: all the excitement of a first love; the slow discovery of his own sexuality and that of the female sex. There'd been no news for him, he'd seen it all before his voice broke.

Jon noticed his sorrow and stroked his cheek gently.

“I made you sad, baby. I'm sorry.” Richie covered his hand with his own.

“Don't be! I'm glad you told me...so glad you trust me so much. I was just sad for you, cause you never had a real 'first time', don't have those memories.” he said, taking Jon's hand and kissed the palm before holding it tight once again. Somehow he needed to keep contact, to keep Jon here.

The singer's smile was sweet and tender. “Aw, Richie. Only you would think of that. But I got – memories, you call 'em. The first time I was with a girl my age, because I wanted to. First time with Dot, the first I had deeper feelings for.” His smile grew and the light in his eyes was back completely.

“But my real first time was with you, don't you know that, love?”

Richie's face showed his astonishment. “Really? That's how you think of it?”

“Yea, sure. If the 'first time' is characterized by wanting nothing more than finally be one; knee-trembling anticipation; fear of hurting the other while having the desire to make it good for him; and having a gazillion butterflies in your belly- then I say my first time was most definitely with you.” His smile receded a bit, became more intimate.  
“And my other first time...as I gave myself to you, like you had to me; as I became yours completely...there's still no words for it.”

Richie captured his lips in a passion fueled kiss, devoured his mouth like the love inside of him devoured his soul. He'd known that their first times meant a lot to Jon, he'd seen and felt it, but to hear him say it was just awesome. The embrace brought back some normality and helped both of them to find their inner balance again. Or maybe get a little more crazy.

When they came up for air, Jon laughed breathlessly. “Shouldn't we get a move on? I dimly recall something about dinner at eight...” Richie looked at the clock, 6:30? and cursed.

“Damned, you're right! Didn't think we slept that long. C'mon babe, go and try to tame that hair, an' I call Hank and let him know when, where and so on.”

“Did ya look in a mirror lately, Rich?” Jon laughed. “You should fix your own mess.” It was true, all the caresses and getting wet, then dry again had caused Richie's hair to stick out in all directions, too. He didn't bother to check and went to pick up the phone. “I will. Now lemme call Hank, he'll probably think we left without him.”

Jon was still laughing lightly as he collected some clothes from his suitcase and sauntered off to the bathroom. His whole air had changed, as if a weight had been taken from him. And it has. This ain't the magic cure that makes it all good, but it sure helped him some. Now, let's get this night going.   
Richie made the call, gave Hank the necessary instructions and went to select his outfit for the evening. Just as he had finished, Jon came back.

“Holy shit!” The guitarist couldn't stop the exclamation, but wanted to bite his tongue off afterwards. Hadn't Jon made it quite clear that he didn't want that kind of attention?  
But there he was, looking all kinds of gorgeous. He'd dressed casually, in skintight blue jeans, a black sleeveless t- shirt and a flowing shirt with a batik print of dark and light blue. His hair had been washed and brushed out, so that it framed his face in soft waves. At the moment the startling blue eyes looked concerned.

“What is it, Richie?”

Ah, to hell with it! “ It's just... after what you told me... Is it okay to compliment you?”

“Fuck, yeah! I told ya, I know you don't mean it like that; and I wanna keep on telling you how handsome you are, so I'd like to hear it in return. I'm a vain bastard.” Jon grinned and shrugged.

“And I always thought your parents were married.” Richie mumbled, grinning broadly himself and dodging the slap that came his way, before he went to make himself presentable.

About twenty minutes later Jon was lounging on the couch, flipping through the latest issue of 'Rolling Stone', which he tossed aside when his lover enter his field of vision.

“Holy shit to you, too!” he said, only half mocking. “You sure clean up nicely.” Richie had chosen black jeans and a simple white shirt, nothing fancy at all, but it perfectly set apart his tanned skin and ebony hair. Like Jon he'd shaved and his jewelery was limited to the cross ring and the slippery pendent he always wore. Jon touched his own pendent lightly, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“Looks almost like we're lovers or something.”he joked, but his eyes were tender.  
“Looks like it.” Richie replied softly. They shared a smile, then went looking for their shoes and jackets.


	6. Chapter 6

Hank had enjoyed his unexpected day off; he told them on the way to the restaurant that he hadn't been able to sleep a whole night through since the tour began. There'd always been something going on; and the two musicians said as one:” Tell me!”, then burst into laughter.

The only thing that had dampened the bodyguards good time had been a call from Mike Francis, who had been indignant to learn that his charge had dared to stay behind without consulting him. Him being in NY to recruit staff for the overseas legs didn't stop him from being head of security and calling the shots on everything concerning Jon's safety, he'd said. This brought a snort from Jon, saying last time he checked, he still was a free man; and made Richie think that some people were maybe thinking a little too much of their position. He didn't say anything though, Jon liked the guy and Richie himself got along well with him. It was just...one of these little things.

They found the restaurant in time and were greeted at the door by a brunette, as tall as Richie, with surprisingly blue eyes. He appeared to be in his thirties and spoke with a distinctive north-Italian accent. Richie introduced him to Jon and Hank as Enrico, chef and Patrone of Da Enrico.

He seemed to be familiar with celebrity; when he showed them to their table and Hank made to stand at the entrance he said: “No, no, no! You can watch over your clients from the family table in the back and enjoy your dinner.” The look he threw Jon dared the singer to object, but he just smiled and nodded. Normally he'd have Hank eat at his own table, but this was a date after all.

The place was small, as Richie had said, with only ten tables, but tastefully decorated in the style of a Tuscan trattoria. White stucco walls combined with earth colors and pine wood furniture provided a warm and friendly atmosphere, the light was indirect and candles stood on every table. It was romantic and homely. Since it was a weeknight, only half of the tables were occupied; some guests threw curious glances at the startling couple, but no one bothered them.

Jon and Richie took their seats opposite each other at a table in a niche provided by a wooden screen, that could be overlooked directly only from the kitchen door and the family table Enrico had mentioned. A very old man was sitting at it, nodding friendly when Hank sat down across the corner from him, so he could watch the entire restaurant and Jon's table. Enrico fetched their aperitifs and excused himself to the kitchen, leaving them in the care of a young waiter who bore a striking resemblance to his employer and introduced himself as Matteo.

Jon sipped his dry Marsala, obviously enjoying it, and looked around observantly. When his glance fell on Richie's questioning expression, the singer nodded.  
“You were right. He's a nice fellow. And if the food meets what the ambiance promises...” he raised his brows suggestively.

“It will. And I bet he's got some wine to go with it that'll blow your mind.” Richie smiled.

“The only thing I want to blow my mind tonight doesn't come in bottles.” Jon said very low and Richie felt a jean-clad shank rub against his own. He managed to stay calm and finished his drink as if nothing happened, inwardly grinning about Jon's disappointed face. Oh babe, if you only knew how close I am to feigning a headache and dragging you back to the hotel! We sure wouldn't make it to the bed... He cleared his throat and replied evenly: “Aw, don't say that just yet. You might be surprised by what the evening brings. Wait and see.”

They looked up as Matteo returned, carrying a bottle of wine. He explained the origin of the wine to them and Jon whistled quietly as he heard it was a Brunello di Monticello, a rare red from Italy. Richie let him taste it, claiming he wouldn't know a good wine from a bad one anyway. Jon tasted, paused, tasted again.

“This is...excellent.” he finally said, clearly in awe, “It's just great.”

“Thank you, sir.” the waiter smiled, filled their glasses and left to get the Antipasti.  
Richie sipped from his wine and found it as good as Jon had said. He leaned over the table and asked softly:”So, you sure about the mind-blowing?”

The singer smiled at him and took another sip. “Wavering.” he said “But it might add up nicely.”

“What's up with that anyway? Not complaining at all, but you've quite an- appetite today.”

“Dunno. Rested, I guess. Got some catching up to do. And I'm...nah, this is silly.”he broke off and Richie frowned, not getting what he was on about. “What is? You wanting me?”

“No! This feeling. Like...I dunno, like there's only so much...and I want to...before..”he looked at Richie, at a loss for words, pleading him to understand, and Richie did.  
“Before time's running out? Live every moment to the max, like it's our last?” There it was again, that familiar feeling of sadness and desperation, that made this love so addictive and bittersweet.

“You feel it, too.” Jon whispered, fingers clenching around the stem of his glass so hard, Richie feared it might break, so he reached for Jon's fingers to loosen his grip.  
Slowly, but deliberately the hand was withdrawn, accompanied by the look that said: We're in public!

Richie nodded once and let his own hand drop to the table, screaming inside. Yes! I love you and I want the world to know! I'm in love with Jon Bon fuckin' Jovi!   
He sought Jon's gaze, his eyes sad and loving as he looked into the frightened blues.

“Please Jonny, let's enjoy tonight. We will talk about this; but right now every things fine, we're together an' I wanna regale you tonight. Please, for me?” Knowing how little his lover ever asked of him, Jon gathered his willpower and fought the dark thoughts into the deepest recesses of his mind.

“You're right. Tonight is about us. Thank you, for this invitation and your patience.” His smile was genuine, and Richie relaxed again. “It's alright, man.” he replied softly.

Matteo came back with a plate laden with Bruschette in different varieties, cut smaller than normally, and they started on them immediately. It tasted even better then Richie remembered. When he tried one with Olive paté, he just had to offer it to Jon.

“Mh, try this! It's unbelievable!” The singer leaned over and took a bite, closing his eyes as he let the oil soaked bread melt in his mouth. He just nodded his agreement and chose a piece with grilled peppers. As the sweetness exploded on his tongue he sighed and held it out to Richie, who bit off and sighed, too.

“Sweet Jesus! This, I could get used to.”  
“Yeah, catering an' the stuff on the planes will taste even worse from now on.” Jon bemoaned. They finished the Antipasti off in no time, thinking that nothing could compare to the wonderful spicy tastes.

They were proven wrong when the pasta arrived. It looked like a simple affair, just your average noodles with sauce bolognese, but they soon found out that it was much better than that. It was so good in fact that Jon beckoned Matteo over.

“What on earth is this? This is the best Pasta I've ever had!”

“I'll let Enrico know.” the waiter smiled. “It's Pici- that's fresh, handmade pasta- and ragú- that's the sauce-, made from the finest veal.”

“That explains some.” Jon smiled back, thanked him and got back to his meal.  
He certainly ate a lot for his means. Richie watched him, how he enjoyed eating; how he savored the wine instead of downing it to ease the pain, the thoughts or the nervous energy caused by the meds he took. If only he knew of a way to always make life like this for him. But the guitarist was fighting his own demons; he knew that the next time they partied he would stop caring after the third shot; that he'd come backstage, all exhausted, and there'd be a line lying in front of him and he'd snort it up without thinking about how much it appalled Jon, just craving the kick.

As much as he wished, hoped and prayed that it was different, he knew that this was only a reprieve, a short break from reality, a gift that needed to be cherished because it would be gone come morning. Enough of that. We're here now, together. Mind your own words, Sambora!

 

Chapter 18

“So, Jonny. Have ya decided whatcha wanna do on our long break?” he asked lightly. They had almost five weeks between the end of the American leg and the beginning of the one in Australia. “Maybe we could go to Italy for a few days, hunt down this wine?” Jon fidgeted with his fork, before he reluctantly raised his eyes. The guitarist knew immediately that whatever he'd planned, it didn't involve him.

“Uh, yeah, see...Dot wants to go to Greece for a couple weeks. And my parents ain't seen much of me this year, so...” he broke off, seeing the disappointment Richie couldn't hide. “I'm sorry, man.” he added very quietly.

“Ah, well, that's alright. We can always do that when we're in Europe anyway. And my folks will be glad to have me around, too.” I'm such a good liar. Do I get a reward for being able to lie so well? Is lying a good thing, if you do it to make it easier for the one you love? 

Jon had put down his cutlery, and the fingers of his right hand twitched as if he wanted to reach out to his lover. There was so much despair in his expression that Richie simply had to convince him. Putting his own feelings aside, he felt them recede for real.

“It's okay, really, Jonny. We're always together; it's no big deal. I mean, yeah, I'll miss you, but it's okay. And when you're back, it'll be so good..”

“Richie, stop. I get it.” Jon said softly. He perked up a little, as something came to his mind that he hadn't told anyone yet.  
“Ya know we have a little space in Australia, just over a week. Well, we ain't gonna play extra shows then, and we're not gonna do interviews an' shit.”

“But?” Richie asked curiously.  
The singer smiled impishly, and Richie found himself absolutely distracted.

“I always wanted to do something big, something really rock'n roll, right? Now, I talked to Mike about it, and he knows this guy, and well...we're going to a beach resort in Australia, just us guys, lots of drinks an' stuff, and some pretty girls. Whaddya say?”

Richie first reaction was: Yay, party! His second thought was a little bit more deliberate.

“Sounds like fun, Jon. But are you sure that's what you wanna do? What with Dorothea and all...” he asked carefully. The singers expression changed momentarily from excitement to abashment, but he quickly recovered.

“She knew what my life's like. And she'll never know about it, so there's no point in worrying. So, you like? Just imagine; Hot sun, even hotter babes, party all day and night...” his voice had adopted a suggestive quality that bedazzled the guitarist, so he didn't think about what he wouldn't have during that week.

“Yeah, that'll be -nice.” And if that's how you want to play it, I'll just have to go with it, right?  
He looked at the approaching waiter and his eyes grew wide.  
“Looks like here comes the real thing.” he said.

“The real...oh, meat.” Jon grinned. “You're an animal.”

“Grr!” Richie answered and snapped his teeth in the air, causing Jon to laugh out loud.  
When Matteo, who could hardly contain his grin, despite his good schooling, had left again, Richie whispered:

“Have to keep up with you, don't I?”

“You're doing alright, I'd say.” Jon said with a wink.

The fragrances from their plates lured them back to the task at hand. They didn't talk during this course, just ate the costolette di maiale con salvia with relish and indulgence.  
Richie leaned back after polishing his plate and closed his eyes.

“Don't tell me you're full. I thought I'd never see the day...” came his lover's mocking voice. He had eaten only half of his portion.

“Shut up, Jonny.” He replied without opening his eyes. “I'm savoring the moment.”

It didn't last long, though, for Matteo brought dessert; a slice of crostata di fichi topped with a dollop of mascarpone. Along with it came two glasses of Vin Santo. Jon's eyes almost crossed at the sight, which made Richie chuckle.

“Aw, are we a lil' greedy today?”

“You gotta talk, man! It ain't me who tried to scrape the glaze from the china.”

“Hey! I just don't like seeing good food going to waste, nothing wrong with that.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Jon attacked the cake and Richie followed suit, both men closed their eyes as they tasted the sweet-sour fruits, the rich flavors of almonds and vanilla laced with notes of orange and lemon. This was pretty much the best food they ever tasted.

The restaurant had emptied by now, the last costumers cleared out and Enrico came to them, carrying two bowls with what looked like ice-cream. Matteo followed him with a tray laden with glasses, small cups and a bottle of Grappa.

“I hope you enjoyed your meal. Mind if I join you?” the chef said. The former wasn't a question really, he'd seen the empty plates come back- at least half of them had been empty.

“You're welcome.” Jon replied, gesturing to the empty chairs.”It was fabulous! I'm gonna dream of this whenever we're faced with junkfood. And the wine- you must tell me where I can get it, it's outta this world!” to which Richie just nodded enthusiastically. He knew that Enrico knew what he thought of his cooking.

“Not that far away.” Enrico laughed. “I'll give you an address. I'm glad you liked it. Now, here's some Sorbetto di pere, just a little fruit and some of this.” he gestured to the Grappa Matteo had placed on the table, along with the espressi.  
Jon's face showed comical desperation.

“ That sounds great, but I don't think I can squeeze it in.” he said. Enrico laughed lightly.

“I'm not gonna force you; but a healthy young man like you...”

“Not so healthy.” the singer said, his expression turned serious and his tone was suddenly cheerless. Richie, who'd been joking with Matteo, looked at him and automatically reached for his hand. Jon allowed him a brief contact before he drew it back, reluctantly, but still very decided. In that moment he felt another hand on his shoulder. It was the old man from the family table, who happened to be Enrico's grandfather, just coming back from the restroom in time to witness that scene.

“Non c'è abbastanza amore nell mondo. Per questo non possiamo permetterci di rifiutarne neanche una parte.” he said with a surprisingly full and deep voice.  
Everyone looked at him with some kind of bafflement, but Enrico frowned.

“Nonno, what the hell are you doing?” he asked in Italian, as Jon asked:

“What did he say?”

“Nothing. He's just...”

“Please, tell me!” Enrico sighed and answered hesitantly.

“There isn't so much love in the world that we can afford to reject any of it.”

Blue eyes widened as the singers cheeks colored slightly. Richie was a little shocked himself, but very curious of his lover's reaction. The old man said something in rapid Italian, which caused Enrico to answer in kind, made Matteo chime in and resulted in Enrico throwing his hands up in surrender.

“He says he'd like to tell you a story, all of us in fact, but you need to hear it. Feel free to say no; I'm only translating because, you know, you gotta respect your seniors.” The chef was clearly embarrassed “I'm apologizing for the inconvenience.”

Richie watched the old man with a feeling of anticipation.

“I'd like to hear it.” he said calmly. Jon, who had remained completely silent so far, nodded.

“Yeah, me too. We're kinda storytellers ourselves and always like to hear something new. Coming from someone with your experience in life, it oughta be good.” He seamed to have decided to appear unperturbed so far, and just as curious as Richie about where this was going.

Enrico agreed to translate and Richie invited Matteo, who he had learned was Enrico's nephew, to sit, after clearing this with a look between Jon and the patrone.  
Spotting Hank sitting now all alone at the other table, Jon called him over and asked him to join them.

When everyone had a glass of Grappa in front of him, introductions were made once again and the old man smiled when he heard Jon's name, cause he himself was named Giovanni. He started to speak, with Enrico and Matteo taking turns in translating.

 

Chapter 19

“I was 16 years old by fall of 1916, the second year of the first war. We didn't feel much of it, in the small town where I lived. Go to school, play ball, go fishing-or ice-skating in the winter- that was how we boys spent our days. Then a new boy came into our class, his name was Francesco, and he came from Rome. His mother needed the country air, while his father stayed in the city. You know these kind of arrangements. He was the youngest of three, a latecomer, his brothers had moved out years ago, so he had all of his mother's attention. She took him to concerts, art exhibitions, the like.

My class tried to give him a hard time, cause he was different, and I admit, I was one of the worst. But he was a good sport, and one day, when we had played a stupid prank on our principle, he saved all our asses. We became friends then. He showed me a whole new world. Just like me, he loved to read, and we spent days discussing books, dreaming about the time we would go and see the places we read about.”

Giovanni paused and took a sip of his Grappa, then said something that made Matteo laugh out loud, while Enrico looked like he wanted to strangle someone. The three guests exchanged a look and it was Hank who asked: “Care to share?”

“Ah, he just said that he finally got to taste the good stuff, and that Enrico will find himself on the same position in Nonno's last will that Nonno seams to be in on Enrico's list of people who get the top-shelf booze.”

“Ouch!” Richie grinned.” That's harsh.”

“But understandable, given the taste of this.” Jon stated, raising his glass towards the old man who returned the gesture.

“So we became really close,” he continued.” and by the end of that year we were inseparable. We could finish each other's sentences, laughed about the same things and spent every free minute together.” Jon and Richie exchanged a knowing look.

“That year, the Spanish flu came over Italy like a curse. We were unfazed at first, we were young and healthy, it didn't concern us, we thought. Even when Francesco got sick, I wasn't too worried, all that bothered me was that I wasn't allowed to see him.  
Only when the youngest brother of a friend died, I got scared. The possibility of never seeing Franco again, to never hear his voice telling me a dream...” he broke off, shaking his head lightly.

“I realized that I felt more than friendship for him. How much more I couldn't decipher, but I went to his house twice a day to ask how he was. I've never felt such relieve as the day the maid told me to just go up and see for myself.  
I stormed upstairs to his room and there he was, pale and thinner then I remembered, but alive and smiling. Before I could think or stop myself, I was kneeling on the bed and holding him in my arms, whispering his name over and over again. And without hesitation he returned the embrace, not surprised, not shocked. All he said was Yes, Gianni, yes.”

Jon watched the old man closely, fascinated by the emotions playing on the heavily lined face and his deep expressive voice; though it was Enrico narrating the story, it was that voice that clearly had him in thrall. Richie could only see his lover's profile; the blank look on his face that might fool anyone who didn't know him that well, but told Richie that his whole attention was fixed on the story and that he tried to keep his own emotions in check.  
Giovanni continued, and so did his grandson.

“I never told him how afraid I'd been of losing him, and he never told me that he'd feared to die. We knew. We held each other for a long time. When we parted, our eyes met and we- kissed for the first time.” Enrico spoke that sentence very slowly, like he had problems understanding what he'd said.

Richie sucked in his breath and waited for Jon's temper to flare. He'd never been confronted with the issue by an outsider; even the band knew no facts, just that there was something going on between the two of them. He himself didn't mind, rules were meant for breaking anyway.  
But nothing came. Jon was just as fascinated as before.

Enrico talked to his granddad in a stunned manner and Giovanni's replies were calm and friendly. Matteo gave them the gist of it in a hushed voice.

“My uncle asked him how he could've been married for 40 years and if it had all been a farce. Nonno said no, he met his wife later and loved her very much.” Giovanni started to talk again and Matteo took over, giving Enrico time to collect himself and have a drink.

“Everything changed from that day on. Life was better, somehow. I wasn't alone anymore, I'd found my other half. Sure, there was confusion and doubts, and let's not forget what the church had taught us about it, but we worked through that.  
It's true, you know, love conquers all. Never forget that. If you dare to love, and act on it, then every thing's possible.”

The old man looked intently at Jon, who blushed once more. Then his dark gaze shifted to Richie. The guitarist felt as if he'd spoken directly to him, as if he could read all his fears and reservations. Fuck, we even wrote a song about it! I know it's true, why did I forget about it? He almost missed that Giovanni and Enrico spoke again.

“That spring and summer were the best time of my life. I was in love and so was he. Some things were easier back then; it wasn't uncommon for boys or men to show affection to each other, walk arm in arm or exchange kisses on the cheek.” He smiled at a memory.”Sometimes, when we met in the morning, we made a game out of turning our heads when no one was watching, trying to place a kiss on the mouth.” Richie grinned widely and Hank concealed his snort as a coughing fit, which made Jon roll his eyes, but he couldn't hide the knowing smile that played on his lips.

“Still we knew that we had to keep our love a secret; only my oldest friend knew. He was a real friend, he accepted it as part of us, as natural.  
The days flew by, filled with school and dreams and laughter, and we thought it would always be like this. But then Franco's father ordered him to spend a few weeks of the holidays in Rome. He didn't want to go, but he had to, of course. We promised each other to write every other day, and so it happened. I missed him terribly, but his vibrant and colorful letters in which he told me about everything he saw made it bearable.”

Giovanni paused and took a deep breath. The younger men around him got the impression that he braced himself for something, his look was one of finality and fear.  
It was Jon who voiced that impression.

“You don't have to do this. If it's... if you'd rather not tell the end -cause the end is coming, right? -we understand.” he said cautiously. Giovanni gave him a small smile as Matteo had translated the singer's words.

“Thank you, my boy. Don't ever let life take your kindness from you. But I've started this, and I need to tell it just once.” the old man answered. He finished his Grappa, chased it with a sip of the fresh espresso Matteo had fetched at some point, and proceeded.

“ I had a summer job at the grocery store. One morning I was cleaning the windows when I suddenly heard Franco's voice. I turned around and there he was! Two weeks early; but I didn't think about it then, all I felt was incredible happiness. It vanished the second I saw his expression. He looked like he hadn't slept for days, like a ghost of himself. We embraced shortly and I asked him what happened. He just said that he needed to talk to his mother and try to sleep for a few hours, that he'd meet me after vespers at our place by the river. My face must have shown my confusion, cause when he embraced me to say goodbye, he whispered that he loved me.”

Giovanni closed his eyes and sighed. Everyone at the table could see that this was taking a lot out of him. Matteo, who was sitting next to him, put an arm around his shoulders and said something to him, very low. His answer was a firm shake of the white head. Jon's nerves finally showed as he looked at his thumbs, where tiny beads of blood welled from the tears he'd made in his nail beds. He wiped them as inconspicuously as possible on his jeans, but he couldn't hide the slight trembling of his voice.

“Rich, I need a smoke.” Remembering where he was, he looked around. “D'ya mind?” he asked no one in particular. Everyone negated, and Richie passed him the whole pack across the table. He'd caught a glimpse of Jon's hands and wanted to see if he was right, if Jon had really managed to scrape the skin raw without him noticing. When he took out a cigarette and lit it, Richie saw the torn cuticles. Oh shit! I thought he stopped that. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea.  
He took a cigarette for himself and offered Enrico one, who accepted gratefully. Giovanni had taken the opportunity to remove a small cigar from his shirt pocket and relaxed visibly after a long draft.

“Somehow the hours went by and the bells tolled for vespers. I ran down to the river, knowing that he would be there already. He was, and there we embraced properly. He was trembling and clung to me like I was his lifeline. Before I could ask what happened, he started to tell me. I still hear his desperate words. His father had opened one of my letters. A letter in which I told Franco in detail how much I missed him. The bastard called Francesco every cuss word imaginable and gave him a 'choice'. He could join the army immediately and become 'a real man', or his so called father would disinherit him and take the house and everything from his mother. As a respectable lawyer, he could do that easily. Franco didn't give a shit about money, but he never would've risked his mother's welfare. So his decision was made. He'd leave in the morning.”

There was an audible intake of breath from Jon and Matteo, while a quiet “No!” escaped Richie's lips. He despised war with a passion and couldn't believe the cruelty of this young man's 'choice'. Giovanni looked at him and nodded solemnly.

“ Yes, son, that's what I thought. No, I said. No, please don't go. Don't leave me, don't do this. But he explained to me how his father would destroy his family, his mother, if he refused to obey. I couldn't argue with that. Even if we'd run away, she would suffer for it. I can't tell you how I felt that night. It was early August and still very warm. We looked for solace in normality, went for a swim in the river, even fooled around a bit, after all we hadn't seen each other for 2 weeks. When the stars came out, we lay in the grass and looked up into the sky. Francesco said that we would look at the same stars, no matter where we were, and that way, we'd always be together. I cried at that and he comforted me, though he was scared of what his future would bring. We kissed and caressed each other, tried to memorize everything, and then he asked me to make love to him.”

Again he stopped, overwhelmed with the memories, and smoked in silence for a moment before he found the strength to go on.

“ I turned him down. To this day, I don't know why. Was it fear of the unknown? Of perdition? Of losing myself, making it harder to let him go?” he raked a wiry hand through his hair and sighed.

“He was great about it, didn't try to pressure me or sweet talk me into it, though I could see how much it would have meant to him. We spent the whole night together, there by the river, under the shooting stars. In the morning we went to our respective homes; I couldn't watch him leave on the train. We wrote each other while he was in basic military training, he took it hard, as I had feared. He wasn't meant for that. Then he was transferred to an artillery unit in the north. We managed to keep contact, but it got harder when he was stationed at the Isonzo river, on the Austrian border. He wrote about how cold the nights got, how bad the supply was and how the soldiers feared another battle, for there'd been eleven of them already. Then there was nothing for a couple weeks. One night I woke because I heard Francesco call me. Loud and clear, like he stood under my window. I jumped out of bed to look, but there was nobody there. Somehow I knew that something had happened to him. A week later, his mother came and told me that he'd died that night.”


	7. Chapter 7

Silence descended over the table, as thick and oppressing as a shroud. Somehow they were all there in that small living room in Italy, reliving the shock of those horrendous news. Giovanni's hazel eyes were clouded with tears, Richie noticed, but it was Jon whose looks alarmed him. The singer's face was as white as the linen tablecloth, his eyes huge and too bright.

Suddenly Richie didn't care about what the others would think or know anymore; about the abuse Jon would probably hurl at him later, he had to touch him. He reached for Jon's hand, held it in a tight grip, careful not to touch the sore skin and almost tearing up himself when he felt his lover holding on to him. Their eyes met and now Richie knew what the expression was that he'd not been able to name. It was love. Pure and primal love, a love so deep it was scary somehow and could not be spoken of lightly.

The lump in his throat threatened to choke him, he reached for his glass and, without breaking their gaze, emptied it.

Matteo had put his arm around his great- grandfather's shoulders, but the old man patted his hand in a way that indicated that he was alright. It was Enrico who, after taking a long sip from his Grappa, asked carefully: “How? I mean...did you ever get to know...” Giovanni nodded and answered quietly.

“After the war ended, a comrade of Franco's came to me. He'd been wounded himself and taken prisoner shortly after...Franco had given him the last letter he wrote and asked him to bring it to me if he could. And to tell me...It was shrapnels. He...it took some time. His last words were my name and..that he loved me.” He lit another cigar and reclined in his chair with an air of exhaustion and relief.

“I'm sorry for your loss.” Everyone started at the sound of Jon's soft, hoarse voice. He'd let go of Richie's hand and was lighting up himself; his compassion was deep and sincere.  
“But how did you survive? I think I'd die if...”

“Grazie.” Giovanni looked straight at him, as if he'd expected that question. “Yes, that's what I thought at first. That's what I wanted; to follow him, to have this pain end. But the guilt was almost worse. I had told him that I loved him, but I had refused to proof it. Now I would never get a chance to do that. And then I realized that hell is here- it's what we make of life, on this earth. My purgatory would be to live the life we dreamt about, but to do it alone. So I did, till I met my future wife, who convinced me that I'd paid enough. Still I regret what I didn't do that night.”

Richie cleared his throat and said quietly:” I think he knew how much you love him. You were so young; it's understandable that you were afraid.” His thoughts wandered back to his own past, to the night he'd asked Jon to go all the way. Granted, we were kids no more, but it was a huge step. What would I've thought if he'd refused? 

“Love is a terrible thing.” Jon stated out of the blue. Everybody stared at him, wondering what made him say that. Richie closed his mouth with an effort; he had no idea where Jon was coming from. Didn't he listen at all? Can't he see that it's people who's terrible, not love? 

Nevertheless the younger men at the table nodded to themselves, but Giovanni cocked his head and asked quietly:  
“ Perché?” That word Jon understood, and maybe it was the alcohol or just the emotional turmoil of the day, he couldn't keep up his shields anymore.

“Because it just tears you apart sometimes. Because it's so strong, it fills you completely and makes you forget all reason and obligations. You just love. And if you try to hold it in, 'cause the price would be too damn high if you acted on it, you're miserable, and the person you're in love with is miserable. And if you do act on it, people get hurt left and right. Those you lie to, and those you tell the truth, and it's so...so..” he drew a strangled breath and looked around, realizing what he'd said. Richie saw him trying to gather strength, to regain his composure, and he saw him succeed.

“I'm sorry. Life's been rough lately, and I haven't been well. I enjoyed tonight, I really did, but I'm beat and would like to go.” And BAM!, shields firmly back in place! The guitarist had to admire his lover's ability to bounce back from almost everything, even if he feared at what cost that recovery came. They're strangers. It's pretty normal that he don't wanna spill his guts to them. But in his heart he knew that Jon might very well clam up on him, too.

Everyone got up; Hank went to get the car, while Matteo started to clear the table. The others moved to the entrance in an a little awkward silence. When they reached the door, Giovanni turned to Jon and said something very urgently, emphasizing the words with fluid gestures, and Enrico had to hurry to translate.

“I'm sorry if I upset you. But to see...It's there, right there, and you can have it if you only trust your heart. I know it's difficult, with our upbringing and ancestry and all, but don't reject the best thing in your life!”

Jon took the fluttering hands of the old man in his own, very careful, and looked straight into the eyes that saw so much.

“There's no need to be sorry. And I'm not upset. I know you're right, but...” he swallowed hard and continued very low.

“I'm married.”

Giovanni's expression changed from man- on- a- mission to understanding and commiseration the second Enrico had spoken the words.

“I see. I never thought that it could be just as bad to have than to lose. May god give you strength, son. I'll pray that he shows you the right way. No matter what the priests say, he's all about love.”

“I wish I could believe that.” Jon answered quietly. “But I thank you and will not forget what you told me.” He slowly released the other's hands and smiled sadly.

Richie had watched the exchange with bated breath; his thoughts a jumble, shocked that Jon bared so much of himself. He almost missed that the old man had turned to face him, and that he and Enrico addressed him now.

“Don't give up. It's worth it. He's worth it. My prayers are with you.” Richie hadn't known how much he'd been in need of such a reassurance until he heard it. There was no one he could talk to about this at all; his friends were too far gone in their own desperate attempt at dealing with what life threw at them, and the rest... better not go there.

Before he could utter a single word, Enrico spoke again.

“Look, I don't really get what this is all about, but I assure you that not a word of it will leave this room.” Jon's smile turned into one of genuine gratitude. Just then the limo pulled up and they said their goodbyes, somewhat quickly, but feeling that whatever happened there that night was over now. 

 

Chapter 21

Of course it wasn't. Jon was unusually quiet as Hank drove them back to their hotel on the other side of the city. He just stared out of the window; the one time Richie had said his name in a questioning tone-of-voice, wanting to know if he was alright, he'd just shaken his head in rejection. The guitarist tried to be reasonable about it, to give him the space and time he seemed to need, but he felt himself becoming more nervous by the second. His own mind was still reeling from what he'd heard tonight, both the deadly reality of homophobia and Jon's violent reaction to it.

When they were about four blocks away from the hotel, the singer snapped out of his funk. He lowered the privacy screen Hank had raised to restore some semblance of professional distance between them, and demanded:

“Stop! I gotta get out.”

“Jon...that's not a good idea. You're not supposed...”

“I'm supposed to be your boss, and I think it's a fuckin' great idea, so stop the fuckin' car!”

Jon didn't even raise his voice, and as rough and damaged as it was, it shouldn't be able to hold such command, such power, but it did.

The bodyguard hit the breaks and pulled over immediately. Before he could get out, Jon had exited the car on his own and leaned back in.

“Walk with me?” he asked in a completely different tone, hesitant and pleading. Richie just nodded and followed him. The streets were almost deserted, only a few cars passing by, and it was still pleasantly warm. They walked for a few minutes in silence, each in a world of his own, with the big car crawling along the curb behind them. This is surreal. This whole night...what can I do? What can I say?

Just then Jon stretched out his arm and reached for Richie's hand. The guitarist needed a moment to realize what his lover offered, so Jon prompted:

“Please. Let's pretend we're free. Just..”

He trailed off as Richie took his hand and laced his fingers with Jon's.

“Tonight we are, Jonny, tonight we are.” he whispered.

They walked slowly, clasped hands swinging between them, and it felt good, no, better than good- it feels right.

He glanced at Jon, at his stark profile in the yellowish streetlight that made the dark blond hair shine like a halo, and he laughed at himself for being so utterly sappy.

“We're so damn lucky.” Jon said softly.

“Imagine being under age and at a parent's mercy...” he shuddered, and Richie let go of his hand and put his arm around him. The singer leaned into him, his own arm came around Richie's waist, slim fingers wriggled into his back pocket-Surreal does not even begin to describe it- and Richie tried to do the same, but, damn, those jeans were painted on, so he settled for hooking a thumb into the belt loop on the far side of Jon's narrow hips.

They were walking like a real couple now, and it was perfection in itself. It didn't matter that it was only a dream; only the aftermath of the days confessions, of remembered and anticipated pain. It was here and now, and as they passed a porch that jutted out real far from the building, Richie nudged his lover inside and they kissed like there was no tomorrow, - and maybe there wasn't, but they had tonight.

When the need for the physical contact they had suppressed all evening had been sated for the moment, they resumed their walk 'till they reached their destination. Jon wanted to wait for Hank who had to park the car, 'cause he had a few things to set straight. As soon as the bodyguard met them in the lobby, Jon addressed him.

“First, I need to apologize, again. And then...” he was unsure how to proceed; and after a look around the empty lobby, noticing they were hidden from the concierge's view by some large plants, he simply put his arm around Richie and asked with some defiance:

“So, any questions?”

“Nah.” Hank replied. “My kid brother's been living with his boyfriend for three years now. I'm cool with that. I just keep doing my job.” He smiled openly and tipped the side of his nose in a conspiratorial way.

Jon's eyes went wide, and Richie connected some dots in his brain and came up with a pretty clear picture.

“You were behind all those last minute saves? The accidentally misplaced keys; the delayed limos; the convenient phone calls for people who were about to bust us?”

“Well, yeah, some of it. It's my job to keep you safe, in every aspect.” He appeared to be a bit embarrassed to be caught, but that was nothing compared with the embarrassment Jon felt. His face was the color of a ripe tomato.

“And all I ever do is give you hell for- oh god!” He dragged his hands through his hair, totally upset with himself.

“No Jon, it's okay. I've known you for a couple years now, and I know you're not really like this. And I understand. So calm down and enjoy the rest of your break, alright?”

If it was his words or Richie's hand on his forearm that made him do it, Jon took the advice and thanked him again. They went to the desk and received their keys and the tickets that had finally arrived. Now that Hank knew about them, there was no need to take different elevators. They were empty anyway at this time of the night, so they stepped into the first one that opened.

Jon went straight into Richie's arms, hid his face in the crook of his lover's neck, and like the day before, Richie breathed for the both of them. He held the younger man tight and stroked his back gently. When the guitarist looked over to his bodyguard, he saw that the tall man regarded them with an affectionate expression. It felt great to know that for once he didn't have to guard his actions and words, and he smiled back gratefully.

 

They'd said goodnight to Hank and walked slowly to their room, arms still wrapped around each other, bodies touching from where Jon's head leaned on his lover's shoulder all the way down to their knees.

A door opened and a waiter emerged. Richie tensed, waited for Jon to jerk away from him and was almost shocked when it didn't happen. He answered the polite “Good evening, gentlemen.” from the man with a short nod, unable to speak, more convinced than ever that this was some sort of a dream.

Jon only leaned closer into him and his fingers on Richie's hip tightened. The guitarist knew that he'd never forget this short walk.  
How can so little mean so much? It's these moments that count...Forever consists of nows...

Inside their room he carefully untangled himself from his lover and turned to look into a serene, open face.

“Jon?” he asked tentatively, “Jonny?”  
The younger man reached out and touched his cheek, stroked two fingers down a strong jaw in a featherlight caress.

“It's a gift; this. I see that now. To feel like this. To know you care so much. I, I won't make no promises, but I wanna give you- all that I am.” His eyes were wide and vulnerable, and the bravery in this took Richie's breath away. He leaned forward until all he could see was the brightest blue, blurring from the closeness and the moisture in his own eyes. They kissed, slow and gentle, just standing there, holding on to each other with tender lips and steady hands.

When they let go it was slow, very sure now, unhurried. Jon moved away to take off his boots and stopped when he spotted the guitar case lying on the fluffy carpet.

“You didn't play all day. Would ya...?”

“Yea, sure. Any special requests?”

“Nah, just do what you feel like.”

That, Richie could do. He took the acoustic out and sat down on his bed, while Jon proceeded to change into his sweats and laid down on his own. Richie played what came to his mind, Spanish masters mixed with themes from the classics and pieces of his own creations. Somewhere along the way Jon got up and fetched a bottle of water for them both, still so strangely relaxed and at ease. His contentment rubbed off on Richie, who smiled while he played and hummed along with the music.

He watched Jon from heavy- lidded eyes, how he was stretched out on the bed again, looking like this was where he belonged. A melody rose in his memory and as he played the first chords, Jon said quietly:

“Sing for me?”

Richie nodded, hoping he'd remember the words.

“If not for you,  
Babe, I couldn't find the door,  
Couldn't even see the floor,  
I'd be sad and blue,  
If not for you.”

Jon had sat up and listened with his whole body, attention focused on Richie's voice and hands equally. The guitarist concentrated on the song, but he was thrilled that he could please Jon like this.

“If not for you,  
Babe, I'd lay awake all night,  
Wait for the mornin' light  
To shine in through...”

And that was it. Aw, fuckin' great! Now what? Richie repeated the notes and still drew a blank, but Jon knew the lyrics by heart and sang softly:

“But it would not be new,  
If not for you.”

Richie nodded to indicate that he remembered now, and Jon was content to listen again.

“If not for you  
My sky would fall,  
Rain would gather too.  
Without your love I'd be nowhere at all,  
I'd be lost if not for you,  
And you know it's true.  
If not for you  
My sky would fall,  
Rain would gather too.  
Without your love I'd be nowhere at all,  
Oh! What would I do  
If not for you.  
If not for you,  
Winter would have no spring,  
Couldn't hear the robin sing,  
I just wouldn't have a clue,  
Anyway it wouldn't ring true,  
If not for you.”

Jon had sung this one for Richie, years ago, in the middle of the night on a deserted beach. It had been their make-or break time, there'd been heartache and insecurity and there'd been those new feelings for each other. And on that night Jon had found the courage to take this old Dylan song and give it to his friend to explain what he didn't have words of his own for. Everything was so easy back then, or so it seemed now. No overblown popularity, no fear of gossip rags and certainly no wife.

It was the right kind of memory for this, a reminder of better days. And how fitting that it didn't say the words 'I love you', but made the meaning so very clear.  
Let's pretend we're free...yes, love. Pretense is all we've got left. But I promised you tonight and you'll have it.


	8. Chapter 8

on got up and took the guitar from his lover's hands, smiling his crooked half-smile down on him. The guitarist read seduction and a promise in it and when Jon turned and bent to put the instrument back in it's case, he stood and pressed up against the invitingly presented butt, his hands on too skinny hips.  
The younger man righted himself and leaned against the warm chest at his back. He rested his head on Richie's shoulder and exposed his neck to him. Unable to resist the invitation, Richie kissed the tender skin, nosing away the obstructing hair. His hands slipped under Jon's tee, caressing the firm stomach, playing with the soft fur there. The singer made little sounds of need and approval, squirming when his lover exchanged tender kisses for short nips and lazy strokes of his hot tongue. Richie got hard in two seconds flat, the friction Jon's undulating moves created on his dick was delicious and torturing all the same.

And still, arousal was rivaled by something more pure, more essential. One of Richie's hands stroked up until it came to rest over his lover's quickly beating heart. He let his tongue trace the shell of an ear before he voiced his feelings.

“Feel me. Feel yourself. This is life, Jonny. This is us.” he whispered urgently.

“Yes Richie, us! You and me, forever.”

“Jonny...don't. Just...don't.” He didn't want to hear this, didn't want to hope for more than he could have. It would hurt too much. Reality had finally caught up with him; it didn't make him love less or wish less, but he wouldn't have Jon take a vow he couldn't keep. His beloved was a man of honor, if nothing else, and it would destroy him if he was forced to break it. But as always, Jon surprised him. Where Richie's confidence failed, his jumped in.

“Yes! One way or another, we'll have that. I just know!” 

And for a brief moment, the fraction of a second, Richie could see it, could believe in it. Then it was gone and Jon turned around and kissed him hard. He tasted of fear, love and lust, mingled in an intoxicating potion, making Richie forget about the future and the past. Here, now! Want you, love you, need you, Jon...

“Jonny!” he moaned into the hot mouth, against rapidly swelling lips.

“I'm here.”

It was the last word either of them spoke for a long time. Even though the need, the longing was almost tangible between them, they kept the pace slow, taking their time undressing each other, gently, reverently.  
When they were naked they stood motionless, drinking in the sight of their lover's beauty. Richie felt his love and desire expand 'till he thought he would burst from the sheer force of it.

Jon's eyes had darkened once more, the almost fully blown pupils were surrounded by a ring of sparkling cobalt, wavy hair creating a stark contrast to the masculine beauty of his face. His cheeks were slightly flushed and his nipples and cock were erect and darkened with blood. He looked like sex and sin and everything worth dying for in this world.

Richie extended a slightly trembling hand, palm up. Jon laid his own hand in it and as a couple in an ancient dance they turned towards the bed. The guitarist caught a glimpse of his image in the mirror and almost didn't recognize it. He saw a tall, muscular man, a proud erection pointing up from between long legs. Swollen red lips provided a striking contrast to eyes of the darkest midnight, long dark chestnut hair flowed over wide shoulders in a warriors mane.

Night and day, earth and sky were coming together in the way they were meant to. He shivered a little at that image and Jon raised his brows in question. Richie just shook his head once and drew him into his arms, pressing a quick reassuring kiss on his forehead. They lay down together and Richie rolled onto his side, supported by an elbow. He took his time to map out his lover's body, like he never saw him like this before.

Starting from the hairline he caressed and kissed every square inch of the beloved face. The elfish brows; the delicate lids with the long lashes that fluttered closed as his lips touched them; the strong, a tiny bit upturned nose that he loved to kiss 'cause it made Jon smile. Sure enough, even when its owner's blood was ablaze with passion, the corners of that sensitive mouth turned upwards. That meant they needed to be kissed and licked immediately; which they were, of course.

Jon moaned softly into the kiss but remained passive, so Richie continued with nibbling along his jawline and the cleaved chin; changed to lazy sweeps while moving down the neck. Jon's hands came up now, he let them wander over Richie's arms, causing goosebumps in their wake, further up until he could grip the strong shoulders. He held him with almost bruising strength.

“More Richie! I need more!” he pleaded.

Richie knew what he wanted and was close to giving in to the urgent demand. His teeth were already closing on the tender skin between collarbone and shoulder when he remembered that they were in the States and a surprise visit from the loving wife was a distinct possibility. And she knew that Jon never allowed any of his floozies to do this to him.

“Can't mark you, baby.” he answered, drawing back.

“Please Richie! She'll think I cheated, yeah, but please!”

“I'll find a better place, promise. Just a little longer.” Richie reassured him, and suddenly he knew how to make this night special, to make a memory they could hold on to when times got tough.  
He kissed his lover again, caught his lower lip between his teeth and licked the captured, oversensitive flesh. Simultaneously his deft fingers had found a hard nipple and massaged it gently. He knew that Jon expected a rougher treatment, up to now Richie had always complied when the younger man had voiced his need for pleasure that bordered on pain. Not tonight. Tonight you'll bear to be loved.

So it continued. Jon was strangely pliant beneath his lover's hands, he moaned and sighed, reacted to each caress with reckless abandon, eyes closed, lips parted. Richie got high on that, on the other's responses, on the taste of his skin. He reveled in the trust Jon put into him and knew that he would go to both their limits tonight.

Soft touches to the inside of tense thighs made Jon open them wide, exposing his leaking cock, his taut balls. Richie avoided them completely, which earned him a disappointed growl.

“Patience, baby.” he whispered, his breath ghosting over soft skin dusted with copper hair. He reached for a pillow, urged Jon to raise his hips and pushed it beneath them. When he kissed up the muscular thighs, they started to quiver.

Richie kissed the crease where thigh meets groin and bit down with enough force for the bite to sting, eliciting a breathless cry from his lover. It wasn't a word, just a helpless, desperate sound that made him hurry in his attempts. He mouthed down, down, till he'd reached the darker puckered skin around the entrance to Jon's body. There he pressed tender kisses, hearing the man beneath him panting,he started to use a little tongue.

"Oh! Oh god, Richie! Don't...don't!" Richie stopped and asked innocently:

"Don't what? Don't do this?" Accentuated by a swipe over his rose, which made him gasp.

"Yes! No! More!" Richie looked up to see his lover flushed,his expression a mixture of extreme arousal and embarrassment.

"You don't like it? Shall I stop?" He noticed that Jon was unable to come to a decision and said gentler: "It's okay, baby. Let me do this. Don't think. Just enjoy."

The younger man looked at him with absolute trust that made Richie feel very humbled. He smiled reassuringly and went back to his task. Richie licked in concentric circles around Jon's core which made his motion frantic. Hands grabbed hold on the sheets, went back to his lover's head, tried to grip his own erection. That, Richie would not permit.

He directed the straying hand to his own head, where it promptly tangled in his dark tresses and took the purple cock into his deft fingers. His lips continued the tantalizing caresses on the other's tender flesh, while he worked the straining cock slowly. Jon moaned, his head thrashing from side to side as Richie's tongue dipped into his opening, tasting his musk.

He went a little crazy on his lover then; over the fact that he allowed him to do this, that he trusted him to see him like this, open and lost in his pleasure. The second he thrust inside the tight orifice, Jon went rigid and cried Richie's name. Only the guitarist's fingers clamping down on the base of his cock prevented his ejaculation. He protested loudly.

"Richie, please! Please let me come! So good, so much...need you... need..." He broke off on a choked sound when Richie continued,switching between tongue fucking him and sucking on the sensitive rim. Jon's legs were opened so wide that Richie fleetingly thought that his hips had to hurt, but he was far too gone himself to do anything about it. His own erection throbbed in time with his heartbeat, his senses were filled with the sight and smell of his lover. I want you. God Jon, I want you like I've never wanted anyone in my life. He said it loud, to hell with the consequences, he needed to say it.

"I want to be inside you, Jonny. I want to fill you- love you..." He whispered urgently.

"Yes. I want you to. Now Richie...now!"

Richie obliged by rising to his knees and pulling Jon's hips onto them. He retrieved the lube from where he'd stashed it under the pillow that afternoon and coated the fingers of one hand generously. The other caressed Jon constantly, never losing contact with his skin, while he slowly worked the first finger in. Jon's pelvis jerked upwards as Richie crooked the deeply embedded digit and stroked over his prostrate. He was beyond words now, only a keening sound escaped him and he reached for Richie's hand, held it tight, so tight that Richie could swear that their fingers merged. He was filled with lust and love, his body quivered with anticipation and he heard himself murmur soft words of encouragement and desire as he added another finger, and then one more.

"That's it baby, you doin' great. Love you Jonny, want you so much, wanna make you feel so good, wanna pleasure you. So tight my love, so hot. Can't wait to be in you, to be one."

"Then don't wait." Jon ground out. 

"I won't."

Richie scissored his fingers once more and felt no resistance, so he withdrew them carefully and covered his straining cock with lube, hissing when the sensation produced a string of precome. Jon looked at him wide eyed, raw desire visible in his gaze. Richie leveled his cock to Jon's rose and pressed the head against the loosened muscle. When the singer pushed up to meet it, wrapping strong legs around his hips, he proceeded, breaching him slowly, holding his breath as tight heat enveloped him.

He was only buried halfway when Jon cried out again, tensing and writhing as he climaxed and his seed shot out in huge bursts. All Richie could do not to follow him was take himself in a vice grip and think of icewater. It worked and after a few seconds the torturous contractions lessened and he could relax again. Jon breathed heavily, shuddering with the aftershocks, which sent a myriad of sensations through Richie via his steadily deeper moving cock. When he was buried to the balls, he looked at his lover's face.

"You okay there, babe?"

"'M fine. It's incredible...so full."

His feature's showed absolute bliss, but it wasn't enough for Richie. He'd give him more tonight, so much more than mere satisfaction.

"Move with me, Jonny." he instructed, pulling the younger up by the waist and reclining, somehow managing to get his own legs straight so that Jon sat astride him, but before his back hit the sheets he straightened it again. Jon's arms wrapped around Richie's neck on instinct and when the guitarist folded his long legs in the lotus position, Jon's wrapped around the small of his back again.

This was the 'sacred position' the minstrels of old Europe had told about, and Richie understood now how it got that name. They could look each other straight in the eye, he was buried almost impossibly deep inside his lover's body and while he couldn't get much leverage to move, it was so close he could feel each breath Jon took, every tiny movement.

"Wow, this is...intense."The singer whispered. His eyes glowed in the dim light, a vivid blue, like flames dancing over coal embers. Richie could feel his renewed arousal rising against their bellies, slick with his fluids and their mixed sweat. His own cock grew impossibly harder, lengthening inside it's tight, hot sheath. Despite his increasing erection, Jon seemed calmer now, all impatience gone. He closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose, scenting Richie.

"Mmh, heady." He stated, smiling a little wickedly. He leaned in to kiss Richie's throat while slowly undulating his lower body, sending shock waves of intense pleasure through his lover. Richie answered by flexing his thigh muscles, pressing even deeper into the beloved body. They found a rhythm soon, the minute moves building friction nonetheless, and the closeness allowed them to touch and kiss, caress and whisper sweet nothings into ears and skin. 

It felt like they were truly one after a while, breathing in unison, neither knowing where one ended and the other began. They were together, and Richie took Jon's face between both hands and looked deeply into his longing eyes.

“My love. There's no one like you, you're my everything-” his voice was low, vibrating with emotion, and Jon's answering voice sounded alike.

“You're the same to me. The only one who knows me; who I'd die for...Richie..my love...”

The kiss he bestowed upon Richie's lips said that and so much more, made them both tremble with the enormity of that confession.  
Moves that had been gentle and measured became faster, determined; want, take, have and one! screamed in Richie's mind.

Hands, lips, every body part imaginable yearning, straining towards completion. One of Richie's hand encircled Jon's burning hot cock and was covered by the singer's own hand. Together they stroked the pulsing organ while their other hands helped to support their momentum.

Fluttering words mingled with harsh, panting breaths; senseless, yet revealing everything. The world had ceased to exist, only they remained; Jon and Richie, together, and still so utterly separated.

Too much! Too much!

The wave rose, searing heat, white fire, consuming, cleaning away all thought except the one.  
Jon! Jonny!

And then it was upon him, shaking him, rocking his body and soul with a truly earth shattering force. He clung to his lover, who was trembling as badly as he did, slender muscles convulsing in his embrace, unable to contain this immense pleasure.

“Richie! Oh, god..oh please! God, yes! It don't stop...Richie!”

“Yes Jonny! YES!”

Their screams intertwined in the last seconds, they didn't know what they affirmed, it didn't matter. Distantly, Richie noticed that Jon was sobbing, he felt the cool tears on his heated shoulder. Still shivering and twitching in the aftershocks, he guided them both down somehow, cradled his lover's head on his chest and felt a profound loss when his cock slipped from Jon's equally discomposed body.

They curled up together and managed to get under the covers somehow, not wasting a single thought on getting clean. In some way they were still connected, not really inside themselves, and it was only when Jon's fingers caressed his cheek that Richie noticed that it was wet with tears, too. Not a word was spoken as they slowly descended from the heights of their experience, and within minutes they slipped into a deep slumber.

 

 

23

Richie dreamt.  
In his dream Jon was crying, helplessly, desperately wailing, which was strange 'cause they'd been so happy today. The crying changed, turned into sounds a man might make if he's trying to stifle screams of agony, biting on his fist to keep the whimpers inside.

Richie moved through the pitch black landscape of his nightmare, tried to reach Jon, to help him, but he couldn't get to him; couldn't get through the darkness that surrounded him like a fog, oppressing, choking, constricting his limbs. Just as he was about to panic he woke up, dazed from the sudden change of consciousness. It took him a moment to assure himself that he was definitely awake, because the whimpers were still present. Once he got that they were real he stretched to switch on the lamp, then turned to Jon and wrapped him in his arms.

“Jonny? Jonny, what's wrong?” The slim body was trembling, and not in a good way. Jon's skin was sweaty and cold, he'd coiled himself up, facing away from Richie. The older man tried again.

“Jonny, talk to me!”

No answer, just that heartbreaking whimper. Richie held him closer and stroked his hair , over and over again. Oh shit, what now? How can I help you when I don't know what's wrong? I'm no clairvoyant; I'm not the answer to everything...

“Baby, please tell me. You're scaring me.”

That seemed to get through to Jon; he took some deep breaths, tried to calm down and whispered:

“Mookie, you gotta promise me something.” Don't make me, don't make me...please...

“Anything, Jonny. You know that.”

“No matter what happens, never forget these days, never.”

He had expected a lot, but not this. As if I could...

“I couldn't, even if I tried. Why would I do that?” His bafflement showed in his widening eyes, but Jon was still not looking at him, even though his body had relaxed marginally.  
He drew another shuddering breath and spoke very clearly, as if reciting something.

“I saw you walking away. You...I called for you, but you were..gone. It felt like ...like dying. There was a hole where my heart used to be, and I..god, Richie, it hurt!”  
Richie pulled him around at that, held him so hard, he half feared to bruise him, but couldn't care.

“Oh baby, it was a dream. Just a dream.”

“Then I saw you lying on the ground. You didn't move and there was so much blood...so much..”

He trailed off, clearly totally lost in the memory. Richie took the younger man's head in both hands, his long fingers framing the beautiful face that was now contorted in fear.

“It. Was. A. Dream. You've got a lot to deal with and it's absolutely normal that you get scared, considering that we're about to return to the madness that's our daily bread. And on top of that, the story from last night...”

“Can't we just stay here?”

The voice was strange, childlike and frightened, not Jon's at all. Richie had never heard him like this, not even when he'd been so sick that he was nearly delusional, or so stressed that the slightest misunderstanding had caused him to tear up. It hurt and frightened him beyond believe.

“I've got you, Jonny. Tonight you're safe. And tomorrow...We've always made it through the tomorrows, didn't we? It'll be fine.”

Jon nodded against Richie's chest, then lifted his head a little and pressed a gentle, almost shy kiss to his throat. His lips never left the soft skin as he whispered:

“Love me, Richie. Make love to me.”

“I do. I will.” Richie's voice broke on the last word. He raised Jon's chin with careful fingers and kissed him with infinite gentleness, only deepening the kiss when his lover responded. 

There was desperation in the way Jon clung to Richie, the way his hands held him, the way his lips moved against Richie's, feverishly, searching. Gone was all confidence, the easy going of the evening. Only a kind of urgent anxiety remained, the need to belong, to be assured that he wasn't alone. Richie did his best to show him; he kissed and caressed him, tried to calm him with touches and words.

“It's alright love, I'm here.” he whispered, “Not going anywhere. Never leave you, my heart, my soul. Never.” He breathed them into Jon's mouth, tattooed them into his skin, willed him to believe and have faith once more.

But Jon seemed to follow his own agenda, squirming in his lover's grip, egging him on with sounds that were deliciously wanton, incredibly erotic, yet spoke of a need that knew no bounds. Richie's heart ached, even in the middle of the profound arousal he felt, and there was just one thing to do.

"Tell me what you need, darlin'. Show me!" He prompted.

"You. In me. Now!" It were gasps against the skin of his chest, where Jon was biting his way from nipple to nipple, causing pain and pleasure equally. A part of him wanted nothing more than that, just to get lost in his lover's body, but unfortunately his brain was still functioning.

"You'll be sore, baby. We can't..."

"I want to! Feel it, remember it! I need you!"

Something in his voice made resistance futile. Richie didn't want to hear him beg, as he knew he would if he didn't comply. So he turned his lover over on his front, directed his caresses lower, found Jon still loose and slick from their earlier encounter and entered him without further ado. Jon cried out in pain and relieve, pushing back on the intrusion in the same instance the muscle tightened to expel Richie's cock. It was fast and intense, Jon panting, begging for harder, more, faster still, and Richie finding himself unable to withstand the onslaught of sensations. He pounded into the willing body beneath him, panting and moaning himself, almost insensate from the pleasure, friction mounting until it was simply too much. His orgasm tore through Richie like a hurricane, left him breathless and barely conscious.

His release had triggered Jon's, who actually screamed as he came, hoarse and feral. Richie heard him through the white noise in his brain, felt him go rigid and start to shiver under him. Moving seemed like a really bad idea right now, but he had to see if anything was wrong with Jon, and to stop crushing him, so he rolled off of him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Jonny? You okay? Did I...did I hurt you?”

There was only ragged breathing for a while. Just as Richie started to worry as much as his sleepy and blissed out brains would allow, Jon responded. He rolled onto his side and stroked his lover's chest with trembling fingers.

“'M fine. Hurt good...relax, 'm jus' kiddin'.”

Richie let out the breath he'd held and took Jon's hand.

“I love you. Always.”

He didn't know why he felt the need to repeat that again and again; maybe he hoped that Jon, who'd somehow managed to get once again exactly what he wanted, finally understood that this was more than sex and business. That he would stick by him, no matter what, as long as he didn't betray him, betray them. That this could be reality, not just some dreamt up refuge. Deep in his heart he knew that he was fighting a lost cause. The best he could do was hold on to the last day and night in his memory, draw strength from it and pray that he would find it in him to continue to be there for his best friend.

Jon had curled into Richie's chest and, God, they were a mess, sticky and sweaty, spunk smeared everywhere; and there was a hint of iron in the air that Richie deliberately didn't think about. Couldn't allow himself to think about, cause you can't think about having fucked your lover raw because he wanted it, needed it, and stay sane. Richie at least couldn't. So he settled for the next best thing, doing what he always did, fuzzing over minor details.

“Babe? Clean up?” he asked softly.

“Nah, sleep...” was the muffled reply; and he didn't object, couldn't, really, as exhaustion settled in and the sudden deep,regular breathing of the man beside him lulled him into sleep once more.

 

Richie woke again to the terribly familiar sound of somebody puking their guts out. He rolled out of bed on instinct, grabbed his sweats on the way to the bathroom and had them on as he opened the door. Somewhere in the back of his mind a quiet voice remarked that it just wasn't locked because Jon didn't have the time, which meant that he was in pretty bad shape.

Richie's eyes confirmed that theory a second later. The singer was crouched over the bowl, one hand trying to hold back his sweaty, tangled hair, the other clamped on the brim in a white knuckled grip. Another cramp seized his body just as Richie reached him and then he was dry retching, coughing violently. Richie knelt down by his side, a long fingered hand holding Jon's forehead, holding back the hair, his still sleep heavy voice murmuring encouragements.

"Shh, it'll be over soon, calm down, love, easy now, I've got you." After what felt like hours Jon took a deep, shuddering breath and relaxed into Richie's arms. The guitarist eased the younger man into a sitting position, pulled him into a tight embrace and asked:

"How come, love? What happened?" he had a pretty good idea, but maybe, just maybe, Jon had another reason for puking his guts out than his nerves packing up on him. The singer fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, hiding under his hair.

"Jonny? Tell me?"

"Woke up early and my throat felt kinda funny. I got scared; my voice and all...so I took some pills. Had some juice after...was alright for half an hour or so, but then..."He gestured to the toilet and fell silent, radiating guilt and defeat.

This was worse than nerves. As much as Richie had hoped that Jon would somehow stop taking steroids, this wasn't how it should be. Nothing else could reduce the inflammation in his throat anymore, once it got past a certain point. He'd have to get shots again, and he hated needles with a passion. Richie couldn't blame him for that. He had expected real life to start again sometime today, but not with quite such a bang.  
Can't do anything by half, huh, baby?

He noticed that he had stroked Jon's head all the time, now he cradled his face in his hands.

"Oh, Jonny, it'll be alright. Maybe it was a coincidence, maybe you need to change the brand. "

"Yeah, and maybe we'll have snow in Australia. I've had it with that shit!" 

"You need it. As much as I hate that you do, I see that you can't go without for long, so just deal, okay." Richie snapped, angered by Jon's attitude and cranky about his abrupt awakening.

It wasn't supposed to come out like that; he understood how Jon felt, but it was enough. For both of them. Jon's face, already pale, turned a ghostly shade of white. He wrangled out of Richie's hold and stood slowly.

"I'm alright." He said when the guitarist moved to assist him. "I'd like to take a shower now."

Alone wasn't said, but clearly understood by Richie. He left the room without a backwards glance.

One step forwards, two steps back...hot and cold..I can't take anymore, I don't know what to do! That wasn't an act last night; I know what I felt and heard. Richie dropped heavily onto the couch and put his face in his hands. He sat motionless for long minutes, the sound of running water a suitable background noise for his tumbling thoughts.

The shrill ringing of the phone startled him, he answered it with a gruff 'yeah'. Paul was on the other end of the line, inquiring about Jon's health and if they'd gotten their tickets. Richie was contemplating telling him everything; how exhausted they were, how sick Jon really was, how he himself was so dangerously close to a breakdown. It was a temptation like none he'd known before.  
But as he opened his mouth, he only confirmed their arrival time and that Jon was better indeed. Pride and that idiotic sense of privacy Jon thrived on made him keep his thoughts to himself.

He ended the call when he heard the shower stop and ordered breakfast. It arrived in time with Jon's return from his morning ablutions, and he visibly perked at the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Since he hadn't had any clean clothes with him, he was dressed in the hotel's bathrobe again.

Richie was angry with him and with himself as well, disappointed and hurt, but involuntarily aroused, too. He had a feeling he would always be when it came to naked or scantly clad Jon. The sun raises in the east, ice is cold and Richie Sambora's got the hots for his front man. As simple as that. Somehow, there was comfort in that thought. Maybe that was all there ever was, and he was a sentimental, romantic fool for making this epic love story out of something as simple as lust.

Yeah, go on, lie to yourself. Belittle what you have and did, add insult to injury. You don't even need him for that anymore, you're doing a great job all by yourself.  
Jon attacked the coffee and proceeded with just sitting back, eyes closed, cradling the cup to his chest and inhaling the strong aroma.

"You sure you should drink that? I ordered some tea and toast for you..."

"I want coffee!" Jon said with a sharp hiss. "Stop treating me like I'm so fuckin' fragile!"

"Fine! Have it your way, you stubborn ass! Don't come running to me when you're sick again!"

"I won't!"

The last was swallowed by the sound of the door slamming shut behind Richie. He'd had to get away; he didn't trust himself around Jon right then. Plus, he was really mad. Really, really mad, the kind of mad that comes from hurting, from seeing the writing on the wall and finally starting to believe that it's not a mirage.  
What he wouldn't give to have something to beat up right now! He wasn't the violent kind, but sometimes it was good to blow off some steam that way.

When he got into an thankfully otherwise empty elevator, the elderly gentleman exiting it gave him a disapproving once over. He looked in the mirror, the same one he'd watched his lover in just a day ago. The clothes he'd thrown on were clean, but his hair was full of rat's nests and he simply looked like he just got out of bed.  
Great! But than again, rockstar's prerogative. He didn't have it in him to care anymore.

The bar was closed this early in the day, so he went to the restaurant to get at least some coffee. Hank sat in a quiet corner and gave a friendly wave on spotting him. His first impulse was to wave back and then take a table by himself, but that would've been such a Jon thing to do... Instead he walked over.

"Good morning! You fell outta bed?" The bodyguard teased good naturedly. Against his will, a smile escaped Richie's lips.

"Somethin' like that." He grumbled, making a gesture towards the empty chairs. "May I?" 

"Sure."

Moments later Richie had a cup of coffee in his hands and was smoking a cigarette he'd charmed out of the waitress. The world started to look bearable again.

"You guys alright?" Hank asked casually, looking out of the window, giving the guitarist a chance to wave it off with an 'all's good' if he wanted to. He found he didn't. He needed to voice his concerns, just once, and Hank was privy to their situation, yet not too close. Jon would be livid if he knew, but he didn't need to, right?

"We're not. Jon got sick from his meds, and then we started to fight...I'm trying and trying, but it's always coming back to this...And this fuckin' secrecy!" He shook his head, not knowing how to explain 

It was so complex; like a tangle of contradicting emotions. Love and loyalty, fear and exhaustion, wrapped in a sense of belonging.

"Before my brother met his man, he was madly in love with this guy." Hank volunteered. "He labeled himself as bi, but all his gay encounters were just that; trysts in the dark, no strings attached. It was slowly killing my bro, man, 'cause, you know, what they wanted from life just didn't match."  
He looked up, compassion and understanding in his gaze.

"Sometimes, it ain't gonna work out, no matter how hard we try." It was just what Richie didn't want to hear, but somehow it was better than a merciful lie.

"I don't get it. He was never...simple, or easy, but now...I don't know what he wants anymore. All I know is that I love him."

"You know what they say about the ones you love, right?" Hank asked.

"Yeah. You gotta let them go." Richie answered really low. The thought alone made him nauseous. "And the scary thing is, I think I'm ready to do that." Once the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to take them back, though he knew they were true.

"Have you ever needed someone so bad that it tore your whole world apart? That you'd gladly give up everything, if you could just be with that person for one more day?”

"No, I haven't. I'm glad my woman from college is still keeping me."  
Richie smiled thinly. He knew that Hank had been a promising linebacker in college and that an injury had destroyed all dreams of a career in the NFL.  
It was consoling to hear that there were people who don't let each other down. Still it smacked of betrayal to talk about this with somebody else. It had never been his way to go behind someone's back and he felt strongly that no matter how hard it was gonna be, he'd have to talk this over with Jon, like right now.

“Look,” he sighed, “I don't mean to be rude, but I need to go up again. Try to talk to him.” Richie finished his coffee and stubbed out his smoke in the ashtray while standing up. Hank just nodded, his eyes quiet and compassionate as he wished softly:

“Good luck.”

 

The door to their room was unlocked, which was a good sign. Richie entered carefully and spotted Jon,dressed in jeans and a baggy sweater, his usual traveling outfit. His feet were still bare, pulled up on the couch he was sitting on. “There you are.” he said casually, as if they hadn't parted in anger. Richie retrieved cigarettes and lighter, threw them on the table, took a seat opposite Jon, trying not to dwell on how they'd sat on that couch only yesterday, hand in hand. and closed his eyes.

“Jon...I...I can't...” he began, unsure, quietly. How do you tell the person you love more than life itself that he's hurting you more than you can bear, that the best night you had so far broke you more efficiently than a whole month of bitchy arguments ever could? Because that's what had happened; seeing Jon like he was before, seeing once more the beauty this could be and yet knowing that it would never be again.

“It's like I imagine having a fatal disease. You know you're dying, but every good day gives you a sliver of hope. And every setback crushes you more, until your soul dies before your body. I don't want to live without my soul, Jonny.” he finished.

“That's what you called me last night. Your soul...all pretty lies?” Jon's voice was small, shy, like when he spoke to a stranger. How had they come to this? Why had one incident, such a minor one at that, destroyed all confidence he had had in their love?

“Richie?” That tentative voice pulled him out of his musings, and he realized that Jon waited for his answer. He had started to pull and scratch at his cuticles again, eyes fixed on them like they were the most important thing in the world. “No lie, darling. I never lied to you last night. I meant it all. Just like I hope you meant what you said. No!” he continued when Jon drew breath to speak, “Let me get this out. I might not have the guts to do it later.” When Jon nodded, avoiding his gaze and reaching for a cigarette, he went on.

“You are so deep in me, I'm not sure if I can go on without you. But I'm sure that I'll have to ..., that I'll lose you for good if we go on like this. ” The wrinkles on Jon's forehead said that he didn't understand at all. How could he, really, when Richie didn't understand himself? When all he knew was the pain in his chest and the urge to throw himself at his lover's feet, begging him to stay with him, only him, for the rest of their lives? He'd have to do better.

“I don't doubt that you want me, love me, I just think that it's not enough.” The singer bristled at that, blue eyes flashing silver.  
“You,” he ground through teeth clenched as tightly as the fist that wasn't holding the cigarette, “how can you even think that?”

He was obviously more angered than hurt and that was a good thing, because hurt Jon? Not easy to walk away from. But Jon with a hissy fit, that Richie could do. He was used to it, and maybe that was what he needed right now. Confrontation, lay it all out on the table, just this once. “You know, I actually haven't dared enough.” he said, watching Jon smoke angrily, with fast, clipped moves, blowing smoke out of his nostrils.

He continued: “This, I should have done this a long time ago. But it's been so hard, between the booze and the exhaustion and, yeah, the drugs. I admit it, not as if you don't know, but...Well, it was good when it happened, when you let me love you, and last night...Jesus, Jonny! It was like the tide, you know, like a force of nature, I don't know, like everything came to a head, and,” he sighed,  
“and I let myself dream. But that's what I am, right? Just a fuckin' dreamer, just a small town boy with big ideas. So, this wake up call this morning...it doesn't work that way, Jonny. The dream won't hold up to reality.”

“So I don't fit into your pretty picture and you throw me out, yeah? And here I was thinkin' you're different! Shoulda' known better, what with your track record. Shit, Sambora, way to make a guy feel special.” With that, Jon turned in his seat, radiating disgust and disappointment in waves. There was something fake about it though, something that made Richie reconsider his actions.

It would have been so easy to leave it at that, to be insulted and show it, to end this with a big fight. It wasn't only fear for what would become of the band if he did; Richie was past those worries. It was the knowledge that Jon deserved better, that he couldn't let him think that he'd been betrayed once more by someone who should have protected him, loved him. His cunning plan to make them part in anger rather than heartache had failed miserably.

“No, Jonny. Nothing like that. Don't throw me in with all those jerks, don't do that to yourself. I'm not one of them, it was – is- always and only about you. But...I wish I had the strength to make this work, but I don't. Seeing you sitting there in that bath, all miserable and hurting... I can even bear that, 'cause, you know..., but after, when you pushed me away, again, when you could do that after all we shared last night- something broke inside of me. Something, I don't have the strength to build up again. I love you, I always will, but I can't be with you anymore. Not like this.”

He had to look down because he felt his eyes brim over and he didn't want to cry in front of Jon, he'd held it together so, so long. But the tears came anyway, ran down his cheeks, got caught up in his hair, and Jon still said nothing. All of the sudden, Richie felt lost, so utterly alone that he wanted to wail with it, to do anything to stop the pain. He covered his face with his hands, then he heard the soft, hoarse voice that would always be his salvation.

“I'm... sorry.” Jon tried haltingly, unsure of his words, “and I know sorry don't even begin to cut it. If...if I can go on, it'll be because of last night, I want you to know that. Cause you showed me what can be. I'm not sure how long it'll hold and God, you know I'm the most selfish prick in the world, but I can't help it right now. Like you said, the booze and the drugs, even though they're different for us. You and me- there's not much left of me Richie, and what's left is not enough. You deserve more, you deserve someone who's whole. I'll never forget all this.” he gestured vaguely about the room, and Richie knew what he was saying.

The last day and night, just the two of them. Yeah, if it could be always just the two of us, then it could've worked. Richie looked up at him, at those blue, blue eyes that were red-rimmed, but dry. For once Jon wasn't crying, he seamed to be very sure and very composed. Richie was grateful for that. The singer needed his shell, his mask of being boss, needed it like he'd never needed it before.

Richie longed to hold his lover this one last time, because he feared, knew, that they would never be to each other what they'd been the last days.  
Jon had rolled himself up on the couch, knees pulled to his chin, fingers gripping the frayed hems of his jeans. He looked like the kid Richie had met six years ago, overwhelmed and trying to hide it. And just as lovable. Damn you, Jonny. And damn me for loving you.

Richie had held back his hurt and need so many times, he didn't have it in him anymore. He got up and stood in front of the singer, took his hands and pulled him to his feet before he could even think of resistance. The guitarist's heart broke anew at the faint shimmer of hope that crossed Jon's face, he embraced him and kissed his temple, whispering:  
“I'm so sorry, baby. I wish I could do this, but please, please understand...Please, Jonny...”

How he would miss the feeling of the younger man melting into his arms, the instinctive way he nuzzled Richie's neck and dug strong fingers into the small of his back. How can I hold you and yet miss you already? How will I live when you're gone? All he knew was that there would have to be lots of booze in his future to numb that pain. It didn't matter. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. The dream was over, and life would never be the same again.  
But he'd be alright as long as they could be friends. That was what he had to believe in.

“I still feel you.” Jon said softly against Richie's skin. “Noone has ever touched me like this, and noone else ever will. And I treasure that, but it scares me, too. I can't be like I was with you these last days and survive. I didn't mean to mislead you, I just didn't think. I hope you'll forgive me one day; if I'll forgive myself...I don't know.” Richie held him closer as he felt the singer draw a deep breath, then some strength returned to Jon. Tension firmed his muscles, he freed himself from his lover's -no, not that, not anymore- hold and stood tall.  
“Now, let's pack our shit and, you know, pretend, okay? That's all we ever did, right? That's what we're very good at.” he said.

Profound sadness surrounded Jon, but his eyes held the determination Richie loved and feared equally. Compared with Jon in this mood, a mule was quite flexible. Maybe that would help him cope. For himself, Richie had no idea. His other breakups had been clean cuts, he did not have to see his former lovers if he didn't want to. Jon, he would continue to live with , to work with. Oh, yes, definitely lots of booze.

They did like Jon had said, packed their stuff and called Hank, got to the airport in time, tried to look like two buddies who'd had too much to drink the night before and maybe too much sex, too. Sunglasses and basecaps helped with that.  
If the look Hank threw him was sympathetic, the guitarist chose to ignore that. And if Jon made a small, aborted gesture when they got in the car, as if he wanted to take Richie's hand, it was ignored, too. The same when Richie made to tighten Jon's scarf against a sudden, cold gust and pulled his hand back mid-air. Pretense. They would get used to it.

On the plane, Richie ordered “JD, straight.”, and after observing the petite brunette flight attendant with the large violet eyes closely, he turned his charm up.  
“Make that a double, honey. Gotta live while we're still young, right.” His smile was blinding, but his eyes stayed cool, distanced. Jon, who was slouching in the window seat, grumbled “The same for me.” without even looking at her. When the drinks arrived and Richie made serious attempts to arrange a date for the night, Jon turned towards the window and stared out into the stark sunlight.

Richie wondered if his friend really believed that he moved on that easily, if he hurt him on purpose, even. He aborted his flirt, not without leaving an option, though, and picked up his glass.

“To what do we drink?” he asked. The younger man turned back to him and took off his shades. His eyes were still red, and there were sharp lines around his mouth.

“To lovers and sinners.” he said softly, taking his own glass, “and to anyone who can tell one from the other.”  
“Lovers and sinners.” Richie echoed, because it was a good toast, a fitting one. “And to love. Maybe someday it'll be enough.” For a moment it looked like Jon wanted to give a sharp reply to that, but in the end he just nodded and swallowed his drink with the air of a man accepting poison. Richie followed suit, tasting not well aged whiskey, but the bitterness of despair on his tongue. Another thing to get used to, he thought.

 

Epilogue

They made it through the rest of the tour. They made it through what would later be dubbed as The Lost Week.  
Jon withdrew into himself more and more, watching rather than participating in the antics of his band and entourage. He drank frightening amounts of alcohol to numb the various pains haunting him and only seemed to live in the two hours he spent on stage.

Richie partied like there was no tomorrow, and maybe to him there wasn't. He played with a definite intensity and closed his feelings in when he was offstage. His occasional encounters with Cher were a welcome solace, a port in his stormy life, but even that never became more than an affair to him. He was dead tired and it started to show.

He and Jon slept together on rare opportunities. He refused to call it 'fuck', because sometimes, for fleeting seconds, there was a look in Jon's eyes that told Richie that he still remembered. Those where the moments he lived for.

They became less, though, and it all ended with another fight and a cold parting. Whatever. Maybe Richie would get his life together again, maybe not. He didn't care. The only one he still cared for didn't return his feelings anymore. That was all he knew. That was all there was.


End file.
